


To Close the Year

by nicoleiacross



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Background Relationships, Fic within a Fic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross
Summary: A compilation of companion pieces to the lovely @heyjealousy's ficCactus in the Valley. Mostly from the Gladio and Ignis' side of the story o/ Featuring others, as well! {Her work and updates should always be read first! I'll mention which chapter each update corresponds to; but be sure to read her stuff first!}





	1. Ring in the New Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liziscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liziscribbles/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cactus in the Valley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084307) by [liziscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liziscribbles/pseuds/liziscribbles). 



> \o/ Howdy, howdy friends! So, since the lovely [heyjealousy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjealousy/pseuds/heyjealousy) and I have been talking, this has been turned into a sister series! So, every few updates she posts, you can expect one from me within a few days!
> 
> This chapter should be read between chapters 16 and 17!

**i.**

It’s earlier than they would like when they have to leave the library.

Ignis protests, initially… but, as soon as he sees the lines of students crowding to get resources for upcoming classes, he quickly reconsiders and agrees they should go elsewhere and gathers the notes he’s been taking and the records they’ve managed to narrow down to.

It’s still… more than they’d like—old consensus records, as far back as they could go, as close as they could get to when Prompto was in Niflheim, mostly; two binders worth of laminated, photocopies of travel records, birth certificates, death certificates, military services, government offices—anything. Anything that could help them figure out how someone tracks a four year old runaway for more than a decade.

They trek towards their spot—Archean Hall. Damn what the campus may think, it  _is_  theirs. They can’t get up to the roof, unfortunately (Ignis scowls when Gladio mentions he could  _absolutely_  get them inside and up to the roof and gives his shoulder a warning slap to  _not_  do anything stupid)… so, they end up sitting on the steps, each with a notebook, occasionally making conversation, but mostly just pouring over numbers and names of people they don’t recognise in the least, trying to find even a sliver of a pattern.

Gladio’s the first one to notice how late it is.

The only bad thing about studying on the steps up to the hall is that they have really great lighting; enough that he’d only vaguely noticed the sun was no longer their source of light when his concentration suddenly breaks.

It takes him a minute to figure out that his phone is what's demanding his attention—steady vibrating and text noises—and he finally fishes it out of his pocket; Iris telling him she’s probably going to forget later and wishing them a happy new year early. Likely so she can focus on spending the last few hours of the year with Aranea and maybe Prompto and Noctis if the two couples can actually focus on someone other than their partners. He smiles a little and sends a quick reply ( _'You too, sis. Don't do anything I wouldn't._ ') before pocketing his phone and reaching over, gently brushing his fingers up Ignis’ arm as a proximity warning before he squeezes his shoulder.

“Hey, c'mon… it’s getting late, we should head back.”

He smiles at the way Ignis startles from his concentration and nods over his shoulder in a gesture, “I didn’t notice, either; but, we’ve been out here for  _hours_.”

Ignis just blinks at him and looks around, confused, before he seems to realise it  _is_ dark.

“I—it was barely five when we got here, what time—”

“A bit after nine.” Gladio struggles not to laugh at the under breath swearing and carefully stands, stretching out with a small groan, “Oof… oh yeah. We’ve definitely been out here way too long, Specs.”

He reaches a hand out help pull Ignis to his feet and, this time, he does laugh when his fiancé stumbles; he manages to catch him by both arms and keeps a hold on him until he regains his sense of balance, “Straight home, then?”

“That would be… most beneficial, yes.” Ignis is still frowning, clearly perplexed by the sudden loss of time, “I’ve never… we never…  _how_?”

Gladio leans over to kiss his forehead—mostly to be annoying and rub his face in Ignis’ hair in an attempt to mess up the styled fringe; it earns him the sought after scowl and another light slap.

“Don’t worry about it, Iggy. We just got a little wrapped up. Same thing used to happen when you studied for tests before we started dating. Do you know how hard it was to distract you from being responsible back then?”

Ignis smiles, “I recall you had rather inventive methods of distracting me.”

“Yeah, by invoking your legendary rage.” Gladio laughs again, picking up all the books and notebooks, except the one that Ignis had been pouring over, “I think those were honestly some of my best plans ever.”

“I nearly took your eye out with a pencil once.”

“Nearly. Key word there.  _Nearly_.”

As they begin the trek back across campus (Gladio momentarily curses himself for not considering moving the car closer because that is a damn long walk), he looks back over his shoulder, up at the tip of the gazebo, barely peeking up from the roof of Archean Hall and smiles, “Scratch that.”

Ignis stops and looks back at him. He imagines he’s confused for a moment; just a moment before he hears a breathless laugh and knows he's looking, too.

“I agree. Those silly pranks can’t even hold a candle to your best plan.”

“You mean it?”

He knows the answer. Of course he knows the answer. But even so, sometimes he  _still_  can’t believe it. He managed to propose. Ignis said yes without second thought. Without letting him finish.

They were really doing this.

Ignis answers by leaning in to give him a gentle kiss.

“I do.”

Two simple words.

Just as simple as the other three words that send a jolt of pleasant electricity up his spine and he cannot, no matter how hard he tries, suppress the smile as they continue towards the parking lot.

**ii.**

Gladio immediately regrets suggesting they cut away from the main path in favour of a short cut because it takes them way too close to the dorms and frat houses and he ends up running into some of his teammates. It’s not that he doesn’t  _like them_ … but he’d really like to get home.

Ignis makes absolutely no move to save him from the conversations, either; he just smiles, gives a passing wave that is more or less confirming they can stay a while (when Gladio really wants nothing more than to fall over on the couch—or, probably, their bed because he has no idea who all is home at the moment), and immediately devotes his attention to the book he’d been pouring over earlier.

Some of his friends try to question why they have so many books—why Gladio, specifically has so many books and Ignis only has the one and his notebook. It isn’t hard to brush it off as all of them being Ignis’ and Gladio just carrying them (it’s not a total lie, even though  _technically_  the books aren’t either of theirs… no one  _needs_  to know they aren’t for course work, though) and telling them they spent the afternoon studying to get a head start on the upcoming term.

It takes longer than he expects to get away and he doesn’t even manage until he’s insisting that he really can’t drink because, with the way Ignis is glued to his material, Gladio’s going to be the one driving. Another ten minutes of denying the drinks being pushed his way and he finally just grabs Ignis’ arm, smiles, says bye, and retreats before anyone has a mind to try grabbing  _him_.

Once they’re well enough away, he finally groans, “You  _could_  have helped me, you know!”

“Oh, but it’s so much fun watching you socialise.”

“You weren’t even  _watching_.”

Ignis gives him a look over the rim of his glasses without raising his head, “Gladio… do tell me… between the two of us… which of us is the better multitasker?”

Gladio concedes the point with a sheepish smile, a small chuckle, and a little half shrug as he carefully adjusts his hold on the books to balance them in one arm.

Ignis’ attention falls completely back to the book in his hands and Gladio finds himself wondering just  _how_  he manages to read in the in-between lights.

Of course, a few feet later, he has to reach out to catch his fiancé’s arm, barely pulling him out of the way of a lamp post, “At least wait until we’re in the car, Iggy. You’re going to crash into something at this rate. Never mind making your eyesight worse.”

“My eyes will be fine. I’ve read and taken notes in worse lighting than this. Besides, I won’t run afoul anything. I’ve you here, don’t I?” Ignis still doesn’t look up, but Gladio can still see the smile and feels a familiar warmth in his chest that ends in him smiling as well.

“Yeah… yeah you do. Watch your footing, we’re at the stairs.”

It’s easy enough to guide Ignis back to the car, gentle touches and an occasional pull when he needs him to veer just a little more left to avoid tripping or walking into anything else.

As they get closer to the car, however, Gladio falls back a few steps, grins, and pulls out his phone, quickly opening the video recorder.

_Thank the Six Iggy always parks near lights_. He repeats the gratitude when the lighting proves just enough to get the  _perfect_  video of Ignis’ extraordinarily rare display of inattentive clumsiness.

He nearly doubles over laughing, when his fiancé walks into his car and lets out a startled, indignant yelp at the sudden impact.

“What in the— _Gladio_!”

“Right, so,  _what_ was that about multitasking, Mr. Scientia?”

The rare moment of ineloquence, the protesting, the  _priceless_  flustered expression when he throws Gladio a glare is enough for him to regret absolutely  _nothing_. He ends the video before Ignis turns, manages to get a perfect picture of the glare, and quickly shoves the phone back in his front pocket before Ignis can grab for it.

He grins and makes a gesture, daring the other man to still try and get the phone; he laughs, again, when Ignis merely adjusts his glasses.

“You’re quite a toddler at times. Have I told you that, lately?”

“Three times today, babe.” Gladio closes the distance between them and leans down for a quick kiss and effortlessly pilfers the keys from inside Ignis’ jacket pocket, “I’ll drive. There’s a flashlight in the dashboard. Lemme know when you find something fun.”

“This isn’t ‘fun’, Gladio.” Ignis frowns and slides into the passenger seat (he looks hilariously and adorably confused for a moment when he immediately reaches over his left shoulder before remembering the seatbelt is on his right), “Whatever… _this_  is, it’s something absolutely terrifying to Prompto and enough to make Aranea suspicious of the  _man running our school_.”

“… Iggy, I love you; but, that man  _walking_  is enough to make someone suspicious of him.” Gladio’s voice deadpans when he turns the keys in the ignition. His lips curl into what could almost be a malicious grin as he backs out of parking and starts towards the exit, “It’ll be fun enough, when we have names for who hurt our baby siblings. I know they won’t fuck with Iris again… Prompto ain’t goin’ nowhere alone anytime soon, so we shouldn’t have to worry 'bout him… but I’m still gonna make  _damn sure_  they know how much of a  _mistake_ it was.”

Ignis sighs, “We’ve been through this. Physical retribution is not going to solve this—”

“—Never said I was gonna return the favour. I’ve had enough time to simmer and acknowledge you were right about  _that_ at least. I just want them to know that  _I_  know which ones were involved. Especially since  _you_  could have just as easily been out shopping with the girls.”

To that, Ignis has nothing to add. He goes quiet and turns his attention back to the records he’s been going through all afternoon. They both know that if Iris  _and_ Ignis had both been part of the attack things would have gone  _very_  differently that night.

The silence is heavy at first, mangled with their suspicions and the weight of Gladio’s declaration. But, as things do, the tension leaves and the silence is comfortable.

In passing, Gladio glances at the clock on the dashboard and blinks in surprise.

He knew they’d been distracted for a while, talking to his friends from the baseball team, but he hadn’t suspected to have been distracted so long that it was nearing midnight. It’s taking longer than normal to navigate their way off campus, too, due to all the stray cars from people gathering for the countdown celebration and he eventually ends up having to take an even bigger detour to the outskirts of campus to avoid them. Yeah, they have to drive a longer distance, but it’s  _probably_  going to take the same amount of time and he at least doesn’t have to worry about any drunk university students running into the road this way.

Either way, there is no way they were going to be back at the apartment by midnight, even if he ignored the speed limit and any offending stop or yield signs… and, Ignis would give him the cold shoulder for  _hours_  if he did that, so, he really wasn’t in too much of a hurry, despite keeping a close eye on the clock.

At 11:53, they hit a stop sign. They’re barely ten minutes from the apartment, but this… this is good enough. Just so he isn’t being a complete asshole about it—because he can see some people still driving the perimeter like they’d been doing, though no one appears to be on the streets that would intersect with them—he pulls off onto the shoulder just past the intersection, shifts the car into park and pulls the emergency brake up.

Without having to worry about anyone being anal about getting stuck behind them or waiting for them to cross the intersection, he easily splits his focus between the clock and Ignis.

At 11:56, Ignis finally seems to realise they haven’t been moving for a while and looks up, clearly confused.

“What’s wrong?”

11:57

Gladio grins and gestures towards the clock by tilting his head, “Nothin’.”

Ignis follows the motion, blinks, and finally smiles to show he understands, “Ah.”

“This ok?”

“We could have made it back.”

“Woulda been rushed.”

Ignis gives a small laugh to show he agrees.

11:58

Ignis closes the book in his lap and sets it down in the floorboard with the other books and notebooks. There’s still a ghost of a smile on his face and all Gladio can really focus on is the way he can just barely make out the flush of colour on his cheeks and the way it makes his chest feel light.

11:59—no, just before the clock changes, his nerves are suddenly on high alert. He sits up a little straighter and looks around the parking lot, but…

_Nothing?_

11:59

Ignis regards him with a frown, but he doesn’t ask. If Gladio’s instincts are in 'danger mode', he needs the quiet. Instead, he looks out his own window, squinting into the darkness, before he gives Gladio another look. He may motion for the keys, silently asking if they should leave, but something—something tells Gladio they shouldn’t try to move.

He can’t find it. He knows there’s something but  _what_ —

12:00

He hears it before he sees it. Under the sudden fireworks and muffled cheering coming from campus, he can hear it—can almost feel it. Engines from three sides. No headlights, moving fast in the dark—even under light posts and fireworks lighting up the area, black vehicles, no defining decal or visible license plate. Ignis notices a split second later, just as Gladio reaches over to use his arm to push him back, his mind racing a million miles a second—

_Airbags are meant for you to be sitting back, proximity determines damage, sit **back** —_

The first hit is to the back.

His arm keeps Ignis in place, fingers curled tight in his jacket to keep his grip; his seatbelt keeps him from hitting the steering wheel and he barely has a split second to register the delayed release of the airbags.

His releases just before the second hit—the front of the car, passenger side, grazes the hood.

He feels his arm protest as the inflation in the bag causes it to burst, feels the burn on his shoulder, his chest, but doesn’t move, doesn’t pull his arm away from Ignis, even when he feels the other man trying to pry his grip loose.

Everything is muffled and simultaneously ringing. He thinks he hears Ignis—his name? he can’t tell—before a third hit—another one to the back of the car.

This time, he feels his forehead collide with the steering wheel, feels the force split skin and feels the blood running down his face. Senses overwhelmed, struggling to stay awake, he’s only vaguely aware of his surroundings.

Ignis is looking out his window again when the sensor in his airbag finally triggers and a fourth hit rams into the passenger side before everything goes black.

**iii.**

The next thing he sees is a white ceiling.

Popcorn ceiling.

White curtains.

Their curtains aren’t white, where the hell—

Crying. Specifically,  _Iris’_ crying.

Against his better judgement, Gladio immediately tries to sit up only to let out a startled swear when he falls back into the bed, struggling for breath, “What the  _Hell_ —”

“Gladdy—Gladdy, st-stop moving, you’ll m-make it worse!” Iris cries harder but she doesn’t try to still him; instead, it’s Aranea who pushes him down, despite a loud protest from Iris.

Immediately, Gladio feels searing  _pain_  where Aranea touches him and he snarls at her in response. Her own lips curl back in warning, eyes narrowing down at him, “Hold. The fuck. Still. Ain’t doin’ no one, least of all yourself, any favours thrashin’ around like that. Iris,” she glances up without letting Gladio up, “Go find the nurse. Let’m know he’s awake.”

“R-right—right, I’ll try to call Noct again, too, I—right.”

He hears the door close but it still takes him a moment longer to register what was said.

“Nurse—what nurse, where the fuck— _why am I_ —”

His mouth snaps shut as the events start to catch up with him.

Parking lot. Fireworks. Airbag— _Ignis_.

Aranea pushes more of her weight down on him when he begins to struggle; it doesn’t stop him, this time and he can tell she’s struggling to keep him down.

“Where  _is_ he.”

Not a question. A demand. He  _has_  to be ok—he can’t be—he’s  _alive_.

Just in the waiting room.

Just in the waiting room, just signing papers, release forms, they’re  _going home_ —

“—stening to a word we’re saying?”

He’s brought back by Aranea’s voice and realises there’s suddenly a nurse standing over him as well. Patient. Too straight-faced. Asking him questions he doesn’t care about. How does he feel, does anything feel numb, feel like it’s burning, cold— _pointless_.

He tries to ask about Ignis between these questions, but the nurse gives him no room to do so for what feels like forever.

“Well… being awake is certainly a positive development. We’ll monitor you the rest of the night and for the next few days. We’re just waiting for your friend—”

“ _Fiancé_.” Gladio growls, patience wearing thinner by the second. Ignis is fine. If they’re waiting he’s fine, he’s just out at the moment, that’s all.

The nurse pauses, alarmed, and throws Aranea a look. She just smirks at him—has clearly already had this conversation and been brushed off—and crosses her arms. Gladio only barely takes note of the way she pulls a corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at the flesh, despite the initial smirk.

A beat of silence and the man finally continues.

“Your… fiancé to wake up. The police are backed up, it being New Years, but they will be here to take your statement within the next hour or so, I’m certain—”

He stops listening shortly after 'police’. He hears the words but they don’t mean anything.

Wake up.

They’re waiting for him to… no.  _No, no, no, no, no._

It’s getting hard to breathe again and he can hear machines beeping in protest around him. He hears people moving around—a door closing, voices protesting, can’t be sure, but a few moments later, everything is muffled again and steadily getting darker once more.


	2. Breathe In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell and high water couldn't stop him; he's not going to let a few stitches keep him from checking on his fiancé.
> 
> This takes place between chapter 17 and 18! Can be read either right after 17 or after 18!

Gladio  _hates_  the wheelchair.

There are very,  _very_  few things he loathes more than this…  _thing_.

But… if it means he gets to see Ignis any sooner….

His throat feels dry, feels like it’s cracking every time he tries to breathe. That could, also, be his ribs protesting. Or his nerves, honestly, he isn’t sure what’s going on—hasn’t known since he woke up in a  _fucking hospital_ —but he does know  _one_ thing for a fact.

Ignis is awake and he is  _going_  to see him, even if it means sacrificing whatever’s left of his pride and riding in this damn wheelchair.

It’s frustrating—trying to figure out how to move in the various casts, just to get into the stupid chair, especially so maneuvering his right arm. His dominant arm. (For whatever reason, he immediately thinks of how Prompto’s been dealing with his own cast the past few weeks and, later he’ll blame the pain meds for not being able to focus, but he should give Prompto extra kudos.)

But at that very moment, his only concern is figuring out a way to sit in this damn chair comfortably, without agitating his hip or ribs and trying to figure out how to move on his own.

Iris gives him a watery smile, from where she’s standing next to him, careful not to overstep any of the unspoken boundaries and letting him do things at his pace.

“You could ask for help… you’re almost worse than…than….”

He hears her voice waver and the sentence cuts off with a whimper.

Gladio temporarily forgets his plight against the chair and reaches over to give one of her hands a reassuring squeeze with his left, “Hey, now… he’s awake, Iris. It’s ok, we’re both ok, right? Week or two and everything’ll be back to normal.” He wants to sound confident; but, even he can tell it sounds like he’s trying to convince  _himself_  more than his sister. He pushes the thoughts away with a smile that he hopes doesn’t look  _too_  forced, “You’re right, though. So… let’s go see Iggy, yeah? Assholes can’t say anything if you’re pushing the wheelchair, right?”

Thankfully, that gets a small laugh out of her and she nods, “Yeah. They’re probably too scared to try themselves anyways.”

“ _Good_.”

“Gladdy.” She tries to reprimand him, but she still giggles a little. It’s a step in the right direction.

It feels good to be able to joke with Iris. Makes him forget, for just a few seconds, where they are,  _why_  they’re there, and where they’re  _going_.

A nurse comes in barely a second later—a different one from when he woke up the first time; he’s pretty sure he scared that guy off after he popped his stitches the first time… not that he cares, this lady’s a hundred times more accommodating and hasn’t once had to be corrected about his and Ignis’ relationship. She gives them both a small smile and gestures, “The doctors are just finishing looking over him, his room is right down the hall, around the corner from the desk attendants.”

His attention fades out as she’s talking and everything seems to catch up with him again.

He should be ecstatic. He should be absolutely and positively overjoyed right now and he  _is_ … but mostly, the only thing he feels is relief.

He feels like everything was just washed away—the nervous knots his stomach has been twisting into since they told him; the anxious hammering in his chest just  _thinking_  he wasn’t going to wake up; the impatient, irrational anger of being stuck in a bed  _nowhere near him_ —it all washes away and leaves him feeling void of anything but a nigh overwhelming need to cry from the relief.

He doesn’t.

Not yet.

Not yet, not in front of Iris. Not in front of Iggy. When he’s alone again, then he’ll consider it.

For now, he clenches his jaw, takes as deep a breath he can manage, and wills himself to be calm.

As soon as they leave his room, though, that calm crumples. He feels anxious again.

Desperate. 

_Livid_.

He  _needs_  to be near Ignis.  _Now_. He needs to know he’s really ok, he’s breathing, he's—

He’s awake.

He’s alive, that’s what matters. He just needs to see that for himself, to find a way to quell the building rage before he does something he regrets. His attention immediately zeroes in on Ignis’ room.

If Aranea’s in the waiting room, he doesn’t notice; he kind of hopes she went to find Noctis and Prompto, since he hasn’t heard anything about them showing up yet. Or maybe they are there. None of them matter. He’s not even really aware that Iris is still with him, pushing him towards the room, and is only  _vaguely_  aware that his left hand is starting to protest how tightly he’s gripping the arm of the wheelchair.

As soon as he’s in the room, all of that washes away as well and it takes more effort than he cares to swallow the sob—relief, pain, anger, every emotion fighting for control—trying to claw its way from his throat. He doesn’t know if he’s the one that makes noise or if the door closing is what gets Ignis’ attention; but his head turns towards the siblings and Gladio can see a thin, worried frown on his face… though it’s a little hard to focus on just  _that_  when he’s trying to take in the rest of the injuries without feeling any more lightheaded. 

“Hello?”

“H-hey, Iggy.” Iris tries to sound cheerful; she’s doing a lot better than Gladio and is doing her best to keep her voice steady. For both of them. “Just me a—”

Gladio catches her arm and shakes his head once to tell her no, nodding towards the bedside.

“…and… I uh… just wanted to tell you the others are all waiting outside. They wouldn’t let us in.” She shuffles a little when she pushes the wheelchair up to the bed as quietly as possible, obviously confused by the command to stay quiet, “Doctors wouldn’t let none of us in, since… y'know.”

“Ah. Of course. Hospital nonsense, then.” Ignis tries to smile; the attempt seems to hurt him, as it falls quickly and he leans back against the pillows keeping him upright, “I’ll have a word with them, post haste.” He pauses, considering the situation for a moment before he finally asks, “But, then… how did you—Gladio?”

Iris shoots him a look that’s practically calling him an idiot for assuming Ignis wouldn’t figure it out before she’s smiling again, sounding a little bit better, “Yeah, I’ll just—I’ll give you two a few minutes. Don’t be too mean to the doctors, ok?”

Gladio watches the way her smile falters at the door, waits until the door’s closed, to let out a long, slow breath and leaning so his good arm is on the bed and his forehead is pressing against his wrist.

He kind of wants to laugh. He wants to cry. He wants to do  _something_  with the confused mess in his head, his chest, his gut—

He really wants to hug Ignis.

More than anything else, he wants to hug Ignis; and, it’s only the acute awareness of Ignis’ injuries—along with his own—that keeps him from doing so.

There’s a stretch of silence before he realises that Ignis is breathing a lot harder than before. One of the machines beeps faster to announce the rapid heartbeat and, when he looks up, Gladio feels his throat trying to close in fear of the worst.

“Iggy? Hey—hey, come on, talk to me, what's—”

He doesn't finish the question; as soon as he speaks up, Ignis’ breathing levels out with a sharp, shaky gasp. His hands are shaking, severely, even as the closest one gropes, desperately, for contact. Gladio immediately catches his hand, lacing their fingers as tight as he dares and tries to calm his fiancé down.

“Hey… hey, I’m right here, it’s ok. It’s ok. We’re ok, yeah?”

“I—oh,  _gods_ —I thought—it was so quiet, I thought—”

Gladio frowns a little, confused and just a little bit ashamed.

He’s painfully aware that Ignis can’t see him (quietly thankful, too. From the sounds of it, he looks a right mess. If the pain he feels when the meds wear off is any indication, he  _is_  a mess. Hopefully it all heals by the time the bandages come off.) and he should have known this would be the reaction. He’s finally awake, the last thing he needs right now is to be alone.

“I’m not going anywhere, Specs. It’s ok.”

“No it’s  _not–_ not  _that_ ,” Ignis’ voice cracks, still fighting to maintain some sense of control—a small sliver of control, even if it's just his voice, “I thought—you were unconscious and I—when I woke up I couldn't— _can’t_  see, I—”

“Hey, hey, hey… Ignis, listen to me.” Gladio runs his thumb over the back of Ignis’ hand, trying to calm him down a little faster, “It’s ok. You’re awake and so am I. We’ll get through this, ok?”

The nod he receives is a little stiff; but, it’s better than nothing.

Ignis' breathing levels out again with a few deep breaths—he winces when he inhales too deep, exhales to quickly, but he continues until he's calm again. Gladio feels himself smile (a small, half-smile; but, better than he's managed the past few hours) and leans as far as he can without agitating his torso, gently lifts Ignis’ hand up so he can press a quick kiss to his knuckles, “Think you’ll be ok with the others in here?”

He nearly laughs when the frown that crosses Ignis’ face is almost offended (it probably is, but the expression quickly levels back into a neutral state, presumably from pain) when he answers, “Of course I will. Is it everyone?”

“Pretty sure so. I was kind of in and out of it all morning, but I’m pretty sure everyone’s here.”

Ignis lets out another slow breath, sounds more relieved, “Good. … Before they come in, I… did have another question.”

Gladio frowns a little but still nods, before he realises his mistake and answers.

“Of course…?”

“You’re using your left hand.”

He wouldn’t classify that as a question. Not really. It’s more of a statement and Gladio looks down where his right arm, wrapped in the heavy cast, is resting in his lap.

“… Yeah. I am. My right arm’s… a little busted right now. Just a bit sore to move.” He bites his lip before adding, “It’ll be fine, though. I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve broken my arm, just needs to set and heal proper, right?”

He hopes it doesn’t sound too hasty. But, Ignis still doesn’t say anything, just turns his head so he’s facing away from Gladio. A simple gesture, but one that tells him everything he needs to know and he frowns, trying to regain Ignis' attention.

“Hey. Don’t think like that.”

“Like  _what_?” Ignis’ voice hitches, nearly breaks, still biting down the emotions and Gladio gives his hand another gentle squeeze.

“It’s not your fault.  _You_  are worth more than an arm. You know that. If I could’ve switched our spots—”

“ _No_.” He nearly chokes on the word and Gladio can tell it’s taking him a lot not to reach up and rub where his eyes are out of sheer habit, “No—don't—don’t even  _say that_ , I can't—”

“I know.” Gladio finally releases his hand (shushes him, gently, when it earns him a protesting whimper) and brushes his knuckles against Ignis’ cheek. It’s the closest he’s going to get to a hug at the moment; Ignis seems to realise that as well, if the way he leans into the touch is any indication. Gladio just gives a small smile, “I know. I don’t want to think about how you feel right now and I know you don’t want to think about me like that. Just… don’t  _ever_  assume any of me is worth more than you. Yeah? You’re  _alive_. You think I give two shits about my arm?”

That, thankfully earns him a small smile and the tiniest of nods to show he understands (though that may also just be Ignis leaning further into the touch on his cheek).

It isn’t perfect—it’s nowhere  _near_  perfect.

But he’s awake.

They’re alive.

They’ll get through this.

A moment later the door opens and Gladio takes a slow breath to compose himself.

They've got this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading friends o/!!! I'm off to plot more because she keeps giving me more fuel and incentive to do things ♥


	3. Breathe Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio is sure about _them_... not so much himself sometimes. [aka: I felt a little bad piling on the angst, so have some fluff with very mild angst.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direct follow-up to my previous chapter and Chapter 18 of Cactus in the Valley!  
> Remember to always read her updates first!

As everyone's leaving, Gladio's eyes stay on the nurse checking Ignis.

He has no _reason_ to be hyper alert at the moment. He assumes the others already handled Ardyn, if Noctis is passing messages along; so, it's not like he has to worry about _that_ particular walking disaster.

Even so, his nerves are firing almost quicker than his ability to process everything around him. The sounds from outside the room—people shuffling and trolleys creaking and other wheelchairs squeaking; the horrible taste and smell of hospitals feels stronger than normal; and, the hardest part, is trying to follow every tiny movement.

Most of his attention is on the nurse—monitoring the way she writes, the way she moves, if she gets too close to Ignis without a proximity warning. Gladio gives his hand a small squeeze whenever she does, just so he knows to be aware that there's a probability of someone else brushing against him or speaking to him. But, sometimes, a small fleck will try to distract him, or a bit of light trying to creep through the blinds and curtains. All the while, he kept a hand close to Ignis', occasionally brushing his fingers or tapping his own, almost impatient for the woman to leave.

He puts on his best smile—the best he can manage, at any rate—when she turns to them, "You should take your advice to heart, Mr. Amicitia. You should return to your room and rest."

He feels a nerve in his face twitch and does his best to keep smiling and not sound as annoyed as he is, "I'm fine. I'd feel better staying here a while."

A 'while'. They've got another thing coming if they think they're getting rid of Gladio _that_ easily.

He thinks Ignis might attempt to cover a laugh. Or an exasperated sigh. Honestly, the two kind of sound the same sometimes. Regardless of which, he's clearly figured out exactly what Gladio meant. He coughs in a vain attempt to hide his reaction, easily drawing the nurse's attention to himself and she purses her lips for a moment, "Your fiancé certainly needs to be resting."

"I would prefer Gladio here, as well, if it's all the same, ma'am." Ignis keeps his head back, attention on the ceiling.

Gladio kind of wants to ask about it... he imagines it can't be comfortable, constantly 'staring' in a singular direction, before he remembers that... really, attempting to look at people is probably more uncomfortable for Ignis at the moment and he lets the thoughts go. He can't really complain, anyways, since Ignis makes a point to 'look at' him when he speaks.

"Mr. Scientia, you should really get some rest before the police arrive. Both of you should."

"I am inclined to believe I would rest much easier with Gladio in the room with me. Thank you." His smile is everything it was before and Gladio feels a swell of relief in his chest that, if absolutely nothing else, Ignis is at least capable of _some_ humour in the given situation.

She might have more to say; but she merely excuses herself and briskly exits the room.

Gladio watches her leave before he finally gives a short snort of amusement, "You'd think hospitals would gossip about us."

"After the fuss you made the last time you were in the hospital, I agree." Ignis muses, lips still quirked in a smile, "Do you believe she's gone to complain to the doctors?"

"Do you believe I care _what_ she's doing?" Gladio asks, tone playful and teasing, shifting as close to the bed as he can. He had backed up a little while the nurse was checking over Ignis' vitals... but, with her gone again, he has zero incentive to be further away than necessary.

For a moment, Ignis looks contemplative, before he finally answers in a rather matter-of-fact manner.

"I believe that you're going to be raising hell when the police arrive and there's absolutely nothing I could do to stop you. ... Of course, that would also imply I would have any desire to stop you."

Gladio just grins, carefully curling over himself so he can lean on the bed, his head resting near Ignis' arm, "Could both raise hell."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll do exquisitely on your own." Ignis moves his arm a little, giving a small sigh of relief (maybe a bit of contentment) when he brushes against Gladio. The gesture is welcome and Gladio moves his head just enough that it's resting on Ignis' arm.

"This good?"

"Mmm. It will suffice. Loath as I am to admit it, it would be nothing short of foolish to attempt sharing a bed." 

The words are comforting—knowing Ignis is just as displeased as he is about their limited physical contact. He was certain the feeling was mutual, but having verbal confirmation never hurts. Especially right now. Especially when Gladio starts thinking of all the things he could have—maybe not _should_ have but _could have_ —done differently.

Ignis becomes aware of his frown before Gladio even realises that his thoughts are turning sour and makes a questioning noise in his throat, "Gladio?"

"Sorry, just—"

"It isn't your fault."

Gladio immediately stops talking and shifts so he can look up at Ignis. He also should've figured that Ignis could feel any change in expression against his arm. (Also reassuring; no nerve damage, he feels things just fine. Everything will heal—his leg won't, but they can fix that. He can still walk and Gladio is going to make damn sure he's around for the physical rehabilitation, even if it's just being there for moral support.)

The silence is heavier in the hospital. Yeah, there are times when silence between them is tense—after a fight, even if they do make up pretty quick, the silence is always heavy. This is... different. Thicker and tense and nearly suffocating. Maybe because Gladio doesn't _want_ to believe it wasn't his fault. Maybe he wants Ignis to blame him, even just a little, so he can justify the feeling of failure.

"It isn't your fault." Ignis finally repeats himself after the silence.

Gladio merely gives a disbelieving snort, "And how did you come to _that_ conclusion?"

"How did you come to any other conclusion?"

As much as Gladio likes that Ignis makes the effort to always be facing his direction when they speak, right now... right now it's just making him feel a bit more miserable. Ignis doesn't give him much time to try answering and continues as soon as he's certain the question sinks in.

"We could have stayed on the main path from Archean Hall. We _could_ have stayed on the main roads. We _could_ have kept driving. We _could_ have even just skipped research that day and not been on campus at all. We _could_ have done a hundred things differently."

Normally, Ignis' methodical approach to a situation is enough to calm Gladio down and get him to think with a clear head; but, _normally_ , Gladio doesn't feel like the situation is his fault.

"The walk from Archaen Hall was longer than the short-cut, but there would have been fewer people. Both of us know our way around a fight, but if they were willing to use three cars, how many people do you think there would have been waiting for us? There are plenty of spots to hide on campus, especially once the sun goes down. The populated route, despite get sidetracked, was beneficial. No one would be stupid enough to provoke you into a fight near a crowd, let alone a crowd of people that would back you in a fight."

Ok... valid enough point. Gladio gives a slow nod against his arm and Ignis rewards him with a small smile before continuing.

"The main roads: Could we have stayed on them? Yes, absolutely. And we probably would have been trying to maneuver through the crowds until well into the early morning hours. Crowds of very drunk university students that would have made an accident all the more plausible instead of a purposeful attack. But, they would have been in the wrong and I do believe they wish to remain anonymous as long as humanly possible. ... And, as much as I do not wish to consider the possibility... do you think they would have been beneath endangering a crowd? There are many ways to attack a car in a crowd... some less subtle than others. But, subtlety is rather irrelevant if there are no witnesses."

Gladio feels his blood go cold for the briefest moment when he considers that possibility. The possibilities it opens up if they _had_ just stayed on campus to ring in the new year and been around people. _Would_ someone still be stupid enough to attack a crowd? Would it be less focused on _them_ if they stayed?

"And if I'd kept driving, we'd both be dead." Gladio's voice deadpans. This part he's considered enough times. "Probably. More likely, anyways."

Ignis gives a slow nod and Gladio feels his arm tense as his fingers curl into a fist at the mere thought of either of them having died.

"It has been a remarkably cold winter. Enough that a moving car being hit in a collision would almost certainly spin off road and, once more... subtlety is relevant only in the presence of a witness. A lucid witness."

Gladio flinches a little at that. Ok, yeah, he hadn't been handling the situation too well earlier... but, in his defence, he has _never_ been in the hospital without Ignis right next to him and vice-versa. He still wishes that whoever hadn't brought it up. To his surprise, Ignis just gives a quiet laugh.

"You act as though I would be any more compliant if you weren't present. I'm quite certain they took more... precautions when I woke up due to your behaviour. The first thing they told me—after walking me through the routine questions, of course—was that you were waiting to visit in another room. I didn't even get a chance to ask, though I did make quite a few attempts between questions. They didn't tell me how severe your injuries were, however." Ignis frowns, seems moderately annoyed by the fact, "Rather rude of them, now that I'm considering it."

Gladio finally laughs and as much as he regrets it, because _shit that hurts_ , he can't stop himself, "Trust me, I'm a mess. I'll be fine in no time; but, I assure you, I am a mess and very glad they didn't tell you."

That gets Ignis to smile again—fond, exasperated, amused... him. His smile. Very specifically his smile.

"Of that I've no doubt... your arm suffered the worst?"

"Guess so. Bit of a concussion from hitting the steering wheel. Docs were more worried about that than my arm; but, honestly, I feel fine so long as I don't move too much and my arm is pissing me off more than anything."

"I know it's your dominant arm but do consider that if you keep agitating it you'll only be out of commission even longer."

Gladio grumbles, despite knowing he's right. The brief relief of the weight lifting from his shoulders washes away again and he bites down on his lip.

"... I really didn't—"

"Gladio, if you hadn't held me back, I would have been too close to the dashboard when the airbag _did_ deploy. Mine burst and I'm certain _that_ was the cause for my eye injuries." Ignis pauses, taking a slow breath, "If... if I had been any closer when it burst...."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. They both know. Instead, he tries to change the subject.

" _Did_ yours ever deploy?"

"Yeah. Right before the third car hit the passenger side." Gladio frowns a little, "I've been in wrecks before but that was... different. I mean, I kind of felt it push me back, but that might've been in my head?"

"Point being, you had been close to it when it deployed." Ignis supplies, giving a small, thoughtful hum when Gladio confirms. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, "It's something to invest in later, I suppose. I don't particularly like people touching my things, especially so sabotaging my car. _Especially so_ , that you _would_ have normally been in the passenger's seat."

By the end, his tone is frigid and _drowning_ in venom.

In all the years he's known Ignis, he's only seen him get mad once or twice. Annoyed? Yeah, sure, Gladio used to annoy him on a regular basis and he's seen countless moments were the annoyance turns into sass and sarcasm. But when he's actually mad?

Noctis and Iris have both commented on Gladio's temper before—explosive, fiery, something to give Ifrit a run for his money. Especially when there wasn't a concise target to _aim_ that temper at. He doesn't think they've ever been witness to Ignis' temper, though.

If that were to be taken into consideration, Gladio would compare Ignis' temper to Shiva's. When Ignis got mad, it was enough to freeze a room and when he _really_ had a vendetta, it was nothing short of trying to wait out a blizzard. You'd think you were prepared, but you would never be able to see when or where anything was coming from. It didn't even have to be elaborate; it could just be that one, tiny crack in the window that suddenly broken and you were buried under glass and snow.

As nervous as Gladio _should_ feel about the fact his fiancé is _clearly_ livid and probably plotting an extremely detailed manner in which to handle the situation—and Gladio knows for a fact he could get away with just about anything and no one would be any wiser—he's just quietly in awe.

"I love you."

Ok, not so quietly in awe. Very not quietly and very full of admiration and... love doesn't even feel like a strong enough word for it. It really doesn't.

And he realises how drastic his train of thought just jumped there. He does, he really does, and he has every intention of elaborating on how that came about... but, Ignis just smiles. He works his arm out from under Gladio's head (gives a small, amused snort when it earns a rather petulant protest from Gladio) to run a hand over his shoulder. He rubs the spot a moment, obviously feeling for injuries, before he gives the shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I know you were thinking the same thing."

Not the least bit wrong. As soon as Gladio figures out whose cars those were—or at the very least, who all was behind the wheels—there's going to be hell to pay. He'll figure out how to break the Dean's neck later—along with every other bone in his body—but, for now, he'll settle with everyone who was physically responsible for the situation they're currently in.

Before either of them can give further insight, they both turn their attention the door opening. Gladio scowls when he sees the police and knows he isn't going to be allowed to stay in the room for the statement. Especially so since he assumes they're going to ask if he's remembered anything else.

For the time being, he doesn't argue when they announce he needs to return to his room—a doctor is standing just next to the police, making a point to announce they need to check his injuries... quite specifically to ensure that Gladio hasn't popped his stitches again. Like he's trying to upset one or both of them.

The most it does is earn an annoyed glower from Gladio, while Ignis idly tells him not to be difficult. He feels completely entitled to the smug pride when the doctor looks put off by their lack of reaction.

He can behave for now... but if they think for one minute either of them are going to be complacent being separated after the interviews are over, they've got another thing coming.


	4. Affirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read **after** [Chapter 23 of Cactus in the Valley](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9084307/chapters/21387977)!!!!  
>  **07.08.17 edit** o/ fixed a few tiny typos, sorry friends!

The real problem with being in hospitals—aside from _being there_ —Gladio decides, is that there is _nothing_ to do.

It wasn't so bad, at first. He'd raised Hell for a few hours—maybe a few days, it was hard to keep track of time when he was frequently having to take pain killers that knocked him out from anywhere between thirty minutes and four hours. Point being, once Ignis woke up, neither of them had been very complacent until the doctors finally moved Gladio into the other room so they were together. Overall, it was easier to move Gladio and, as soon as they were in the same room, they both became considerably more manageable.

Gladio didn't fuss nearly as much when he was looked over, mostly due to Ignis frequently telling him to stop being difficult. And, for his part, Ignis was much calmer with Gladio present to remind him he wasn't alone all day.

The problems started a while later, when Gladio was finally free to move around.

He wasn't really _supposed_ to—at least, not for more than five to ten minutes, sometimes longer if he had a nurse attending him.

He was still a long way from being back in perfect health. But, they were finally talking about taking his stitches out soon, now that he wasn't agitating them any further; and, best of all, was the fact he could sort of walk around without feeling an overwhelming need to fall over. He didn't need the wheelchair and that was all that mattered. He didn't mind the crutch nearly as much and, yeah, Ignis spent most of the day telling him to sit down and rest... but he _couldn't_.

Now that he had the option to move, he _needed to_. Especially when the doctors gave him the ok to walk around, provided he stayed on the current floor, to get used to moving again. Ignis hadn't been amused, but eventually conceded that an early start on physical rehabilitation would be beneficial and admitted he'd be doing the same thing, were he able.

Normally, he would just go find a few light weights and tension cords to 'borrow' from the rehab rooms. Nothing too heavy, since he was still having trouble with his right arm. Even if it wasn't the bulking, heavy plaster, he still had the cast and acknowledged he couldn't lift too much yet. The cords, at least, were easy to smuggle and was helping him regain a sense of control over his arms.

Ignis, of course, always managed to figure out when he smuggled things in and made him stop; so, exercise really amounted to nothing.

Normally.

Today, he's pacing the room... well, pacing around Ignis' bed, trying to adjust to his crutch (again) when the door opens. They'd been expecting Iris—the only reason he hadn't left at any point—and _assume_ it's her.

Ignis' attention drifts to the door with a small smile, one he uses specifically in an attempt to keep Iris calm whenever she visits. Gladio looks over when there isn't an immediate greeting and feels every muscle in his body tense up and every nerve starts firing off warnings. He at least manages to brush his hand against Ignis' arm to warn him that it _isn't_ the company they were expecting; his fiancé looks up at him, clearly confused and waiting for some indicator of what's happening.

Clarus gives both of them a long look before he finally lets out a slow breath, "Gladiolus. Ignis."

Gladio feels Ignis go tense next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to encourage him to calm down. The effect falls short, given his inability to rein in his own emotions; but, for his sake, Gladio's willing to at least _try._ He lets out a long, slow breath to try finding a civil tone and hopes that maybe, just this time, that a simple conversation stays that way.

"Dad. This is... a surprise." He tries, really he does, to choose his words carefully. It's a little hard to do when every part of him is ready to revolt, based solely on past conversations. "I wasn't aware you were back."

"Regis and I returned very recently." Is the curt reply and tension laces the silence that fills the room.

Despite every reason he has to be wary, Gladio's... all things considered, a lot calmer than he normally is around his dad. Maybe it's the hospital, maybe it's the knowledge that he _can't_ throw the punch he wants to, or... maybe he's just really hoping that _maybe_ his dad is actually willing to help this time. To listen. To actually be worried about his son and future son-in-law.

The thought makes him pause—makes him wonder if he should bring up their engagement, if he should try to extend an olive branch with an invitation. He files the thought for later—for after he figures out what the man's doing in the hospital.

"Guess that means the trip went well enough... but what are you doing _here_? You hardly ever leave Insomnia."

"Or Mr. Caelum's side." Ignis puts in quietly, obviously still nervous about the situation. Most of the time, when Gladio is anywhere near his father, Ignis is the one that keeps the peace just as much as he's part of the reason they're fighting. At the very least, he's the one that pulls Gladio away when things get hostile and, right now, he's in no position to do so. "Should we assume he is present as well?"

Gladio feels his jaw lock into place at the thought; but, a moment later, he's more suspicious when Clarus shakes his head.

"Regis is not with me, for the time being. He had his own matters to attend this evening." There's a pause before Clarus releases a strained breath, remarkably similar to Gladio's earlier attempt at control, "It was... brought to my attention that this incident was outside your realm of control. Given that, I wanted to hear it from you. I want to hear why _you_ think this happened, Gladiolus."

In any other situation—if anyone _but_ his father were asking this question—Gladio would be curious and _extremely_ suspicious of who could have possibly said anything about the accident. He considers that Iris may have been able to get through; but, as far as he knew, all of her attempts had fallen short. But... given that his father _is_ the one asking, given that he can still feel how tense Ignis is and _knows_ how hard he's fighting to stay calm—how hard Gladio's fighting for a sense of civility, as well—and the situation as a whole... Gladio really doesn't care _who_ told Clarus.

"Are you actually going to _listen_ to what I have to say, this time?" Not the best way to start a conversation, but it's a reasonable worry for him. He's had so many conversations—so many lesser situations that ended in a screaming match, in Ignis having to drag him away, in both of them having to console Iris and assure her everything would be ok—that he feels completely entitled to the hostile suspicion, "I'm not wasting my time and breath, if you aren't. We're expecting Iris and if I have to force you to leave before she gets here, I _will_."

"Gladio." Ignis' voice is still quiet, but holds the same command it always does, "Please... would you feel better if I explained?"

Normally, Clarus would have cut them off at this point. Would have interrupted, would have silenced any attempt Ignis made to have a hand in the conversation when he wasn't addressed. The fact that he allows the possibility, makes both of them nervous. Gladio more so, because he can see his father watching both of them, clearly waiting for one of them to speak up.

He gives Ignis' shoulder a quick squeeze before he shakes his head and manages to find his voice.

"No. I can."

His balance feels off as the nerves start twisting his insides into knots. It isn't unusual—the nervous, restless, angry energy around his father. Normally, he can walk it off. Normally, he can pace around and keep his mind on the conversation and task at hand.

That isn't an option right now and he makes a dismissive gesture towards the man, "Sit or stand, your choice. I, unfortunately, need to."

His torso protests when he falls back into the chair close to Ignis' bed. He _could_ go sit on his own bed, utilise the propped pillows and adjustable recline; but, right now, he just knows he needs to be close to his fiancé. For both their sakes.

Clarus remains standing and nods a little to show he understands, "Of course. On your time, then."

When he was little, Gladio may have admired his father's attitude and presence. The way he carried himself, presented himself. He can't remember when that admiration left him; but, it's at least _kind of_ still there, if the moment of awe he feels is any indicator.

Or, maybe he just wants to hope that Clarus _does_ care about at least his physical well-being for the moment.

He almost laughs at himself; he'd wanted to be like that at one point. Wanted to be just like his father; and, now, they couldn't even be within arm's length of one another most days.

"Don't know what you heard or want you want to hear; but, we were in a hit-and-run. Cops are calling it an 'accident', but that's bullshit." Gladio's arm is resting on the bed, fingers curling into the thin blankets in an attempt to keep his temper. A moment later, Ignis' hand is over his, working his fist loose enough to lace their fingers in a reassuring manner and a show of support. Gladio takes a few breaths to calm down before he continues, "We were on campus for New Year's Eve, doing research for a friend. He was going through some rough shit and we wanted to help. Campus library was crowded with students getting ready for the new semester and parties, so we rented out the material we'd found and went to look at it elsewhere. Ended up staying longer than we intended, got sidetracked and stayed even longer, and—by the time we left—it was way later than we thought. Close to midnight. Lot of drunk students on campus, so we took the perimeter roads to avoid stumbling drunks and congested traffic. Stopped on the shoulder near the liquor store... and, three assholes wrecked his car and both of us."

He tries to avoid details. It's still too soon, still feels too real when he recalls it. His arm burns and protests just thinking about the airbag bursting and he can only imagine how uncomfortable Ignis must be. He feels a headache coming on, but can't tell if it's the fact his father is present or from recounting what happened— _again_ —and thinking of the force he hit the steering wheel with.

Most of all, he just feels _rage_. Burning in his veins, through his entire body, and the _only thing_ he wants is to find the people that did this to them. To him. Fuck if he cares about himself, but _Ignis._ Ignis is worse off than him. Even when they go home, Ignis is still going to be stuck recuperating, while Gladio has most of his mobility back. He may not be able to go back to playing sports; and as much as that upsets him, it doesn't even begin to scratch the surface for how much he wants Ignis to be able to see again. To know he'll be able to stand in the kitchen again, cooking and baking and those inane experiments to try balancing Noctis' diet; to know they'll still be able to stay up late—later than they should—reading together with the dim lamp on their bedside table, finding a pace to read at that worked for them until one (or both) of them fell asleep.

The slight pressure of Ignis squeezing his hand brings him back to reality and he calms down—marginally, but it's progress... until he notices that his father hasn't said a word, or looks to have moved any. The only change is the way his brows furrow as he watches them. Gladio's eyes narrow, voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

" _What_."

"You've presented nothing to prove this _isn't_ what I feared it to be, how do you _expect_ me to react?"

Gladio feels something snap. Quite literally feels something snap in him, like a dam finally collapsing. He's back on his feet before he realises it, only vaguely aware of Ignis telling him to calm down, to sit back down; only vaguely aware of the pain that shoots through his torso at the sudden motion. He's beyond the point of caring.

"Could you pretend for _two goddamn seconds_ that you are worried about _us_?" He gestures back towards Ignis, doesn't care that the motion elicits more pain—sharper, muscles protesting, healing burns and bruises protesting. He doesn't stop—not this time. Ignis is physically incapable of stopping this fight and that realisation just makes him all the more livid, " Or even just me? For _once_? One of us— _both of us_ —could have died! I spent _hours_ worrying about whether or not he would even wake up! _Iris_ was here for us! Noct was here for us! And where the _fuck_ were you? Where the fuck were _you_ and _his dad_ when _Iris_ got jumped? When our _friends_ got jumped by those Alliance _fucksticks_ on the way to a goddamn corner store—jumped on the way to _work_? What if it had been Noct, then? Would _either_ of you have shown up? Or if we _had_ died? Then what? Would Iris and Noct be handling this on their own? Would Luna and Nyx be taking care of them?"

The thought crosses his mind—Luna's always been a positive influence and source of comfort for Noctis, even when Gladio and Ignis couldn't be there. The older sister that wanted to look out for the younger kids. He wonders if she got involved—if that's how Clarus found out. Luna was the only person he could see either his father or Regis listening to. He pushes the thoughts away, trying to keep his focus, trying to at least make a point.

He thinks he hears the door open but doesn't pay it mind.

"Do you even _care_ Ignis could have died? Or, fuck, that I probably _should_ have died? Someone sabotaged his fucking car! If I'd been in the passenger seat, I'd probably be _dead_ from hitting the dashboard! The airbag burst—I got _lucky_ with a broken arm! His leg is shattered, we don't know if he's going to be able _to see, even after the surgery_ —"

Gladio is only partially aware of the fact that Clarus hasn't interrupted him once at this point. The only thing he _does_ know is that everything hurts. Physical pain that keeps folding in on itself as _everything_ floods his systems. Everything that Ignis has always stopped him from saying, that Iris stops him from saying, tries to get him to stop thinking. Ignis isn't stopping him and Iris—

He realises a second too late that Iris is standing in the door. Realises it a second before Aranea is right up next to him, her hand pushing down, _hard_ , on his left shoulder and forcing him back into the chair, ignoring that he bites down the pain.

"You _dumb fuck_!" He's gotten used to Aranea yelling at him. Not with this much _anger_ , but he's definitely getting used to it and he probably shouldn't be. The woman's lips curl back with a snarl, "Are you _trying_ to stay longer? You popped your stitches twice the first day, they're finally talking about taking the damn things out, and you're _getting into a fight with_... with... who-the-fuck-ever!"

She makes a gesture back to Clarus and finally turns to look at him, obviously trying to figure out who he is and why he's in the room. But, Gladio sees the tension leave her body and she rushes back over to the door, gathering Iris into her arms and trying to calm her down. Ignis, in turn, finds his arm, giving it a firm squeeze to get his attention and in an attempt to ground both of them, "This conversation is over, Gladio... please, just... no more today."

To that, Gladio has no will to argue and just gives a slow nod and lets the tension leave his body. If there was one thing he'd wanted to avoid it was Iris hearing any of that. Iris knowing their father _had_ finally shown up.

So much for that.

Aranea has a tight hold on her, petting her hair and trying to get her stop crying.

Clarus regards the two with suspicion and Gladio immediately feels a familiar rush of protective instinct shoot through him. Before he can even consider standing up, consider _how_ he's going to handle this, _Iris_ beats him to the punch.

"You should leave, dad." Her voice is muffled in Aranea's shoulder. It takes her a moment to work free of her girlfriend's hold; but, when she does, she's trying her best to keep a straight face and a strong voice, even as a steady stream of tears stains her cheeks, "Iggy's right... this conversation is over. I—I don't know why you showed up _now_ , I—I spent _hours_ trying to get in touch with you when they were admitted and you never returned _any_ of my calls. I... I didn't know what to do—I couldn't get in touch with you, o-or Uncle Regis, or Uncle Wesk, and it took me _forever_ to get a hold of Noct... Gladio almost—and then Iggy—if... if you aren't going to at least _try_ to listen to him... you don't need to be here."

Gladio has never, _never_ seen Iris actually stand up to their father.

She used to break up the fighting—before Gladio stopped caring and started bringing Ignis home, Iris was always the one on damage control. But she never attempted to calm their father down; just Gladio. Just convinced him to walk away, to leave the house for a few hours and cool his head; and, whenever he came home, their father was gone and Iris was sitting alone in the living room, still shaken up from the fight, but ready to give him a smile, offer a lukewarm cup of cocoa to share, and tell him that their father had left shortly after him. Not to look for him, apparently, but he had. And they wouldn't see him for at least twenty-four hours; usually more, rarely less. The cycle never broke, never got better, never got easier, until Gladio just stopped coming home all together and Iris started spending all of her free time with him and Ignis, away from home.

She still looked terrified, like it was finally registering what she'd just said—what she _did._ But, she bites hard on the inside of her lip, keeps her shoulders back, and her head held high; even when the small tremors refuse to leave her body, she holds her ground and Gladio has honestly never been so proud of her. He's still ready though, waiting to see how Clarus reacts; he can tell Aranea is, too.

Surprisingly enough, their father gives a slow sigh, his shoulders dropping a little—just enough to be a noticeable slump from his usual posture—before he squares them once more and gives a small nod, "Of course. I suppose that would be in everyone's best interest."

There is no apology, no real good-bye. Just the door clicking shut behind him. The same click there's always been, just a little bit louder in the small hospital room.

There's palpable tension in the few seconds worth of silence, before Iris finally breaks with a small, strangled whimper that says she's trying _so hard_ not to. She crosses the room before any of them react and throws her arms around Gladio's neck, trying to be mindful of his injuries.

Gladio doesn't even notice and just wraps both arms around her, mimicking Aranea by petting her hair back and hugging her as tight as he can, "It's ok, sis... it's ok."

That's the only invitation she really needs before her weight slumps on him and she's full on _wailing_ against his shoulder. It's been a long time since he's seen her cry this hard—the last time being when she'd gotten lost and nearly given him a heart attack. But even that doesn't seem to compare to this.

It takes more than a good while for her to calm down enough to untangle herself from the hug. When she does, she immediately begins rubbing at her eyes, as though the motion will help stop the tears any faster. She hiccups a little when she finally finds her voice, "Sorry, Gladdy...."

If there's one thing Gladio hates more than listening to Ignis doubt himself, it's listening to Iris blame herself for the fights _he_ gets into with their dad. He tries to give her a reassuring smile, "Nothing to apologise for, kiddo... _I_ , on the other hand—"

"N-not that." She hiccups again and sniffles, "I mean... I dunno if dad showed up because I called, but if he _did_ —"

She cuts off with a short, muffled squeal of surprise when Aranea dabs a tissue at her nose, "Blow your nose, you know snuffling like that makes it worse."

"Aranea, if you do not mind," everyone's attention turns to the bed when Ignis finally speaks up. Gladio may feel a little bad for having ignored him so long; but, he doesn't seem _too_ bothered... though that's not _too_ surprising. Emotional messes like that weren't exactly his favourite environment, despite the fact he generally diffused most situations. "I know you just got here, but it may be best if you and Iris returned home for the evening. It's late and I'm certain Iris isn't going to be feeling too good very soon."

"But, I don't—"

"Iris." Gladio warns, though his tone is gentle and his smile affectionate, "You know you're going to feel that crying soon. If I tell you where Iggy stashed that cocoa we got from Luna, will you go home?"

Iris considers the words for a moment before she gives a slow nod, " _If_ you tell me where it's hiding... and I get a hug from Iggy, too."

At that, Ignis laughs and gives a conceding nod, "Not quite so tight as the hug you gave Gladio; but, of course. It's on top of the fridge, on the right side. Though, do promise me you won't make yourself sick on the cocoa. I would hate to tell Luna you didn't get to enjoy it to its fullest."

"Deal."

Gladio moves back a little so Iris can get between them and wrap her arms around Ignis as carefully as possible, trying to be mindful of the few machines still hooked up to him, of the way his pillows are propped in his ridiculously specific manner. She sighs, a small, content sigh to show she's feeling better, "Love you both."

Ignis is smiling when he returns the hug to the best of his ability; Gladio reaches over to run a hand over her shoulders, giving a solid, reassuring squeeze, "Love you, too, sis. Now go on home and get some rest, ok? You two have enough to hail a cab?"

"Got it covered, Big Guy." Aranea gives him a thumbs up before crossing her arms, her lips pressing into a thin frown, "You two _sure_ you're going to be ok?"

"Even if we _weren't_ , it's not like we can go anywhere," Gladio answers with a dry laugh and then shrugs, "We'll be fine. Nothing new. We fight, he leaves, we don't see him for twenty-four hours. Maybe he comes back, maybe he doesn't. He could be on a flight back to Niflheim right now and I still wouldn't care."

For some reason, Iris actually giggles a little. It's a welcome sound, but Gladio still quirks a brow at her. She responds with a smile and a remarkably simple answer.

"It's still scary when you two fight... but, I'll take it as a sign you're getting better. We'll see you tomorrow. Promise." She offers the smallest wave when Aranea leads her out, the door clicking shut softly after them.

Gladio waits for a long moment before he finally lets out a long breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. Before he finally lowers himself back to his chair with a small grunt and scoots back close to the bed, propping his elbows close to Ignis so he can rub his face with his hands, grumbling a long string of curses and baseless threats.

Ignis reaches over, gently smoothing his hand across the closest shoulder and over the back of Gladio's neck, "Are you all right?"

He wants to say yes. He wants to say, 'of course, what kind of question is that?'

But he knows. He knows what's really being asked and, when he laughs, he can hear how it broken it sounds.

"I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I? You think I'd know better." He rubs his face again, feels the moisture building the corners of his eyes and the laugh this time is manic and hopeless all at once, "I just— _fuck_ , just _once_ —"

The words are lost when he feels the sob trying to force its way out. He bites down, hard, on his knuckle to swallow it and swears internally. He's not doing this. Not in the hospital, not in front of Ignis, not _ever_. He's above this; he's moved past it, he's _done_ pining for approval—

The reality crashes down on him, hard.

Ignis doesn't say anything when his arms cross on the bed, when he puts his head down in his arms, when his shoulder shake, violently, trying to contain the emotion. He just continues rubbing at Gladio's shoulders, his back, his arm—anywhere he can reach to try and assure him they'll be ok.

He's long given up on approval for himself—he stopped caring about that _years_ ago.

The only thing he wants—more than anything, at this point—is approval for _them_.

♦

As they step out of the elevator on the ground floor, Iris is still trying to dry her face, even though the constant rubbing is just starting to irritate already puffy eyes. She grumbles about it, but doesn't stop. Honestly, she understands _why_ her brothers asked her to leave... but that didn't mean she had to _like_ it.

She's pulled from her thoughts when she walks into Aranea's back with a quiet ' _oomph_ ' and sends a small frown up to the woman, "Nea? What's... wro... oh... h-hi, dad...."

She hates how small her voice gets towards the end, hates the way she shrinks behind Aranea in an attempt to hide. For good measure, she makes sure to catch hold of the woman's arm, quietly pleading with her _not_ to start a fight in the hospital. _Not_ to get them kicked out; or worse, _banned_.

She's not sure why her dad is still here, but she is _not_ ready to face him after that.

It takes a moment longer; but, he finally turns his attention to the two and Iris just blinks, confusion slowly taking over and she leans a bit further around Aranea.

Clarus looks exhausted. She shouldn't be surprised, with how late it is. But it's not just physical exhaustion—not just the worried lines around his eyes from age and too many sleepless nights—but... something a lot deeper that makes the tension melt into worry.

"...Dad?"

He spares her a smile, "I am sorry. That you two had to see that. Are you alright, Iris?"

"Uh... y-yeah, I mean. Uhm... I didn't—no, I meant what I said, but I—"

To her surprise, Clarus gives a hollow laugh, "Don't apologise. Amicitias don't apologise for what they believe in, you know that. Only for the unintended mistakes."

It's an old, unspoken rule of the house that they used to joke about as kids; it held a different weight now, the way Gladio and Clarus fight. But, it's still enough to bring a small smile to her face and she nods, "Right. Good. Because I'm not sorry. Not about that, at any rate. I—oh." She perks up, suddenly realising she's still clutching Aranea's arm and gives the woman a nervous smile before looking back at her dad, "I uh. Dad, this is—"

"Ms. Highwind, yes?" Clarus gives a short nod as a greeting, "Pleasure to meet you."

Aranea's expression is easily as shocked as Iris when she looks down at the younger woman, "Did you...?"

"N-no, I haven't been able to—dad, how'd you...?" Something cold tries to crawl up her spine and she goes pale when she considers how he could possible know, "Oh... did... uhm... did the Dean—?"

"No. You needn't worry about Dean Izunia." Clarus' voice goes frigid for a moment before he takes a deep breath and regains control of himself, "Regis is handling him, as we speak, I'm certain."

Iris blinks, "Uncle Regis is...? But I thought—Prompto and Noct said...?"

"Regis is Pretty Boy's dad, right?" Aranea crosses her arms once more, obviously trying to put everything together, "Why's he helping?"

There's a stretch of silence and Iris frowns, "Dad?"

Clarus finally sighs and gestures towards the doors, "It's late. You two needn't be out at this hour. I'll explain on the way home. There's... quite a bit we need to discuss. I'd hoped to speak to your brother, but... I think it's rather obvious that is not an option. For now, you two need to be getting home and _I_ need to speak to Regis about this... _situation_."

Despite his confidence, there's a strange emotion underlying his tone. One she doesn't recognise immediately—eventually places the regret—and for the first time, as long as she can remember, her father's posture falters. His shoulders hunch and he looks much older than he should. Even in the regret lining his features, though, there's anger. An anger she hasn't seen in _years_ —no. No, that's not quite right.

It's an anger she usually sees in Gladio.

When Ignis is threatened. When she is. When Noctis is. When someone he cares about is threatened, Gladio becomes one of the single most terrifying forces Iris has ever been witness to. And to see that in her father's eyes—in regards to _Gladio_.... it's alarming, to say the very least.

Aranea nudges her, gently, in the side, murmuring, "Your call, Iris."

She doesn't need to think twice and nods, quickly, "It's ok. It's—it's gotta be ok. Uncle Regis can help, right, dad?"

"Regis and I will do everything in our power to find who did this—to you, your brother, and your friends." The conviction returns, easily, and he gestures to the door again, "Shall we?"

♦

Iris can tell Aranea isn't amused being trapped in the back seat. She sends her girlfriend an apologetic smile before turning her attention back to her father, "So... Prompto went to get you and Uncle Regis and... didn't tell.. _any_ of us?"

Clarus gives a short nod, "He believed you would try to talk him out of it. Appropriately so, perhaps, given the last conversation that Regis had with Noctis." He looks over and spares a soft smile, the same one Gladio wears, "He means to reconcile with Noctis and I've faith that Regis knows what he's doing."

"But... Uncle Regis was like _really_ mad at Noctis, what makes you so sure—"

"Iris, there are two things Regis and I agree on without hesitation." His eyes remain on the road this time, though he's gripping the steering wheel considerably tighter, soon to the point his knuckles are going white, "That we only want the best for all of you; and, that _anyone_ who hurts you will meet a _very_ unfortunate end. I admit, their prior conversation was influenced heavily by Dean Izunia's call and it's my understanding he put quite a bit of stress on Noctis' temper—"

"—He deserved that punch," Aranea mutters in the backseat. Iris shoots her a look in the mirror, despite agreeing.

"Of that I'm beginning to have little doubt." Clarus agrees, too; Iris feels a little better about that much, but still confused. More so, when he continues, the tension in his jaw, his shoulders, his hands, in  _everything_ obvious, "Especially if it's true he so much as _insinuated_ being responsible for Gladiolus and Ignis' injuries."

Iris nods, slowly, "He didn't say it outright... he just warned us—told... told Noctis to warn them. To be mindful of what they take from the library. It—it wasn't because they're together, dad, you can't blame this on them—"

"Iris, I've never blamed your brother for anything." He looks over, trying to give her a smile; it falls short of reassurance, drowning beneath worry and regret, "I've been worried to death about your brother for _years_. And now I have to worry about you, too... though, Prompto informed us that you and Ms. Highwind are quite the capable pair." His attention drifts back to the road, his shoulders drooping and the pride leaving his eyes in favour of worry once more, "Of course... I always assumed your brother and Ignis to be capable as well."

"They had to take Big Guy and Brains in a hit-and-run. That just _proves_ they're scared of them." Aranea growls at the memory, her arms crossing tight across her chest, "Couldn't even go after 'em in a fair fight, those—"

"Aranea!" Iris yelps, "Not in front of my dad!"

"No, no. Let her. She's absolutely correct and I'm certain Gladiolus is building quite the vendetta against them, the longer he's confined in the hospital. I'd certainly react no differently under similar circumstances."

Iris blinks, a slow frown crossing her face, "... Similar?"

Clarus sighs, deeply, and nods, "I've done many things I regret over the years, Iris. Fighting with your brother so frequently is certainly very near the top—"

"—but not _the_ top?" She doesn't mean to interrupt. Really she doesn't and she flusters a little, wringing her hands in her lap, "I mean... it's gotta be bad if it's worse than fighting with Gladdy...."

"It is. I let fear dictate a choice. A choice I hoped your brother would open his eyes to."

Iris just blinks at him and looks back at Aranea to see if she came to a similar conclusion. The older woman's eyes are narrowed in suspicion. Iris eventually finds the will to speak up again, "... Gladdy really loves Iggy, dad. Like. A whole lot. They—" she pauses, considers the consequences of what she's going to say for barely a split second before she steels herself, "They're getting married."

Her father immediately throws her a startled look and she nods, "Gladdy didn't want you to know because he knew you'd try to talk him out of it. Like you always do. ... Because you're scared for him."

"For him _and_ Ignis," Clarus corrects with another deep exhale, surprise slowly draining from his face in place of regret once more, "I shouldn't be surprised. I'm not, truly. I've never been fair to him, or to Ignis. I just... didn't want him to feel that pain. That sense of betrayal. To have to choose between the safety of the person you love and happiness."

Iris feels the gears in her brain working in overdrive as she listens. As she tries to piece all the vague information together. As she thinks over _every_ conversation that turned into an argument, always over a single subject—the fact Gladio _wasn't_ leaving Ignis, no matter what threats loomed over him. No matter how many times Clarus warned him that they'd regret it.

Those had never been threats—not the way Gladio perceived them. Not the way Iris had always taken them to mean. They were warnings. Warnings of how suddenly things were taken away. And there was only one person in the world Iris could even consider and it suddenly made _so much sense_. The way Regis and Clarus almost parroted one another when lecturing Noctis and Gladio.

"... Uncle Regis?" She finally asks, voice quiet and full of disbelief, "That's... that's why he's always so hard on Noct?"

Clarus gives a short nod.

"And why... you've always been hard on Gladdy—dad!" She reaches over, shaking his arm. Not enough to yank the steering wheel but in a desperate attempt to get his attention, "Daddy, you _have_ to talk to them! I—Gladdy needs to know, you _need_ to tell him, he'll listen, Iggy'll make him listen, it'll—"

"Iris—Iris, slow down." Clarus pries her hands loose as gently as he can and gives her the most heartbroken look she's ever seen him wear, "Iris, it isn't that simple. You saw that. I—I will admit I handled the conversation poorly. But, as soon as I saw your brothers, I.... Civil conversation was the absolute _last_ thing on my mind. Honestly, if I knew _who_ did this to your brothers...."

His words trail off, grip tightening on the steering wheel once more, "Regis and I will find them. I promise you that."

Iris is still too shell-shocked to really register much. Uncle Regis and her dad... she wants to ask. More than anything she wants to ask. But, her attention drifts and she ends up frowning, "Wait... but then... you and Uncle Regis... broke up?"

"We did. Regis was terrified of his father finding out. It was just a rumour that reached his ears, but it _was_ terrifying. For whatever Noctis and Gladiolus think of Regis and I, Regis' father was _worse_. I wasn't happy with the thought of breaking up—neither of us were—but we did. Because it was expected and because Regis' fear was a very real one and one that I could not help him with. No matter how often I told him we would be careful. It took us years to start talking steadily again—well after Noctis was born, I believe. I sent him word when Gladiolus was born, but received nothing past a courtesy reply of congratulations. When Noctis was born, and you, we began steady correspondence again and slowly restructured our friendship. We'd spoken before, frequently, but never the way we used to; not until then."

Clarus' eyes glaze a bit as they pull up the apartment, parking right next to Noctis' car, "It is hard some days. Easier than it was years ago, but still difficult when I have too long to myself. I think of what may have happened, had we stood our ground half as well as your brothers have. I have many regrets for what happened between Regis and I, but I do want you to know one thing, Iris. Something I hope I can get through to your brother one day."

He turns to look her square in the eye and brushes her bangs back—a gentle sign of affection he hasn't done since she was barely learning to walk, "I have _never_ been disappointed in you or your brother. I never could be. You two are the single most magnificent things to happen to me, the two most significant people I could ever hope to meet. Do not _ever_ doubt that. I may never make up with your brother. I do not have to enjoy the fact, but I've long accepted it. But, you... so long as _you_ know how proud I am of both of you... I can settle for that, for now."

Iris expects to be in tears again—she does, honestly. She can't remember the last time she _ever_ heard her father say he was proud of her.

But, instead of tears, all she feels a swell of accomplishment and pride. ... And an overwhelming need to tell Gladio and Ignis _everything_.

She'll work on that later. Right now, there's hot cocoa to be made, she owes Prompto a _huge_ hug, and... from the sounds of how things have been going, Noctis probably needs a hug, and maybe Uncle Regis, too.


	5. Standing Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate follow-up to the previous chapter~ Between chapter 23-24~  
> Not Gladnis! Lots of kids being fluffs and old people being cute fails?? ~~idk, I'm sick lemme alone.~~
> 
>  **edit. 07.08.2017** small typos fixed \o/

The first thing Iris does when they enter the apartment is run over to Prompto and Noctis—ignores the way they startle, the fact Aranea and Clarus both tell her to slow down—and throws her arms around both of them. It's nothing short of a miracle she doesn't burst into tears again or knock all three of them to the floor. She releases Noctis after a moment in favour of nearly suffocating Prompto.

"I-Iris," The blonde chokes a little, one arm returning the hug by wrapping loosely around her torso while his free hand is prying at her arms, "Iris, _please_ —"

Noctis makes no move to try dislodging her. Presumably because he's noticed who she came up with. She quickly releases Prompto and finally gives Noctis a full hug. Not nearly as crushing as the one she just subjected Prompto to, not nearly as long, and is soon bouncing in place, "Prompto! Noct! Dad told us—I don't even know where to start, I— _did_ Uncle Regis really show up?"

She barely contains the excited squeal when Noctis nods and takes each of them by the hand, obviously still uncertain where to start.

"Uh... yeah... he's out on the balcony right now," Noctis' attention is still just past her shoulder, brows furrowed a little, like he isn't sure how to handle the situation or how to address anything, "Hi, Uncle Clarus."

"Hi, again, Mr. Amicitia!" Prompto chirps, starting to bounce a little as Iris' excitement rubs off on him.

Clarus gives both a small nod in greeting, "Noctis, always good to see you. Prompto, wonderful to see you again. You mentioned Regis went out to the balcony?"

"Yeah, it's uh... down the hall, last room. It's my room." Noctis gestures over his shoulder, watches the man take down the hall at a leisure pace, waits until he hears his door click shut before he turns his attention back to Iris and Aranea, "So... Uncle Clarus probably told you what dad told us...."

"Probably!" Iris bounces a little more before she finally settles onto the couch. Even then, her legs are bouncing in barely contained excitement, "I mean... our dads were... how _weird_ is that?"

"Weird is definitely a word for it. Not _nearly_ as weird as hearing my dad say he's proud of me, though." Noctis moves over to sit across from Iris. Prompto immediately settles on his lap and snuggles back against his chest with a wide smile.

"Sounds like things went pretty good on your end then—er... Iris?" Prompto's smile falls when Iris suddenly stops her excited squirming and both boys sit up just a little straighter, "What's wrong?"

"Things went good for _us_ ," Aranea puts in from where she's rummaging around in the kitchen, "Iris, you take cocoa with milk, right?"

"Uh... yeah, thanks, Nea." Iris scuffs her boots into the carpet, her hands folding in her lap, starting to twist and worry her skirt and the leggings beneath.

Noctis frowns, "What's wrong? Uncle Clarus went to visit Gladio, right?"

Iris doesn't answer right away; so, Aranea picks up for her.

"I wouldn't call that a visit." The woman sounds even less amused than she looks, "A word of caution: You probably shouldn't bring up any of this to Big Guy any time soon. There was a... disagreement?"

Prompto startles and immediately looks guilty; Iris quickly shakes her head, "Don't, Prompto... it's ok—I mean. It's... it's not, but it's... normal. Dad and Gladdy have been fighting for _years_. Just like Uncle Regis has been really pushing Noct... but...." She shrugs a little.

"I did what my dad told me to," Noctis puts in, quietly, "Gladio stood up to his dad, though. Whenever Uncle Clarus tried to warn him against dating Specs, it... it ended bad. Not like. Physically fighting bad. But bad. ... I guess it was a little too optimistic to hope they'd patch things up, huh...."

"Dad _meant_ to, he just...I mean. This is the first he's seen Gladdy in _years_... and it's in the hospital?" Iris shrugs a little, obviously not sure how to justify the visit. Her shoulders slump after a bit, "I mean. I get it _now._ But I was mad when I showed up, too. Dad didn't say anything, even when Gladdy yelled at him... I thought he didn't care either, but... he just. Didn't know how to react, I mean. I've been visiting them whenever I can and I _still_ don't know how to really handle the situation."

She sighs and starts wringing her hands again, looking down at her lap, "I really wanna tell Gladdy what dad told us though—you know... about him and Uncle Regis... and-and dad said he was proud of both of us, too! I mean... I know Gladdy doesn't care anymore. I don't think he's cared about dad's approval for _years_... but he really is worried about him and Iggy."

"Maybe we give him a few days to cool off first, Iris." Aranea puts in gently, "Right now, we just focus on making sure Big Guy and Brains get home safe and soon, yeah? We'll cross the other bridge when we get to it... though, I dunno how much your brother's going to want to listen to anything positive you might have to say about your dad."

Noctis frowns and looks over his shoulder towards the kitchen, "You don't have anything positive to say, then?"

"A: Not my dad; b: literally the _only_ thing I know about either of your dads is that they've made your lives _Hell_." The woman's voice deadpans and she shrugs, attention remaining on the stove as the milk slowly heats up, "So, no. I don't. Iris has a better idea what to tell him, anyways. I'll be there, of course, to make sure he sits the fuck down and listens and be moral support. But, no. I will at least give them points for finally getting off their asses to help you two."

Iris laughs a little and tries to distract Noctis from looking offended, "She has a point, Noct. It's been _how long_ since either of us saw our dads? I mean. I didn't even go home before I started here, except to pack my bags and I think dad was on a trip when that happened. I'm almost positive because Gladdy helped me. I stayed with him most of the summer."

Aranea suddenly laughs from the kitchen, easily drawing the attention to herself, "I lied. I got one positive thing to say about your dad, Princess."

Iris' cheeks puff up in irritation, despite a mild flush of embarrassment; Noctis quirks a brow and Prompto turns to look into the kitchen as best he can, "Really?"

"You should've _seen_ Iris stand up to him. _That_ was priceless."

"That's saying good things about _Iris_ —wait she did what—Iris!" Noctis isn't sure which of them to focus on anymore and just gives her a disbelieving look, "You did _what_?"

"Gladdy was really upset and Iggy was upset and—what was I _supposed_ to do?" Her cheeks are still tinted pink; even so, she doesn't look remotely ashamed. Just flustered, like she still can't believe she was able to do that, "Iggy usually stops the fights but... I mean... obviously he couldn't... and... it's not that big of a deal, you managed to stand up to Uncle Regis, too, right, I mean—"

"Yeah, but I did that on the _phone,_ not _in front of him_."

"Right?" Aranea smiles as she brings over four cups of cocoa, handing the first to Iris and offering the other two to Prompto and Noctis, "Her dad hadn't shown up, she'd have never gotten that chance, I don't think. So, I can give him props for that at least. ...And, if they help us settle this bullshit... then I'll consider a 'thank you'. ... Maybe."

Iris rolls her eyes a little, but there's still a fond smile lighting up her face and she immediately cuddles up to Aranea when she finally sits down with her.

♣

Clarus takes a slow breath to steel himself once he's inside Noctis' room. He glances around—manages a small smile at how 'lived in' the room looks, compared to the one in his own house—before he finally settles his gaze on the balcony.

Regis has his back to the door, phone brought to his ear and Clarus can only assume he's called Cor and, or, Weskham to help deal with this mess. Judging by the fact Noctis hadn't immediately asked him to leave and had even pointed him towards Regis, he assumes their talk went exceptionally better than his own.

He shakes his head a few times before heading towards the balcony, giving the window a few gentle knocks to announce his presence before allowing himself out to join his friend.

 _Friend_... the word still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth at times, especially now when he considers the condition his son is in—the condition his future son-in-law is in.... He forces the thoughts aside with a deep, controlling breath that he's long mastered over the years and waits for Regis to finish his call. Friends is better than nothing; as much as he loaths to admit it, it was as best a compromise they could reach and was infinitely better than not speaking at all.

As he waits, he leans on the balcony rail, observing the scenery below—the frozen pond, the people out for strolls far past time, the way leafless trees protested a cold wind. Inevitably, that is what catches his attention, when Regis fights down a shudder and he finally notices the man left his scarf inside. He rolls his eyes and tugs his own off, habitually wrapping it over the man's shoulders and managing to secure it without interrupting the call, "Honestly, I'm gone for barely an hour...."

Regis gives him a thankful smile and chuckles a little in response to the other end of the phone, "Ah, nothing of the sort, Weskham. Clarus is just worrying as he does and reminding me that I'm not quite so young as I once was. Specifically that I'm considerably less sturdy against the late winter chill. At any rate, I've kept you long enough. You'll stay in touch, I hope? ... Yes, of course. Clarus and I will be staying in town for the time, until this passes." He gives Clarus a quick glance, looking for confirmation and he nods once in agreement. Neither of them have any intention of leaving any time soon. "I expect you and Cor to keep me up to date. For now, it's quite late enough and we've all long days ahead of us. Good night, Weskham, and... thank you, again."

A moment longer—presumably of Weskham bidding good night, as well—and Regis finally slides his phone back into his jacket pocket, adjusting the scarf a bit before he leans on the railing as well, "Thank you. I hadn't meant to be out so long."

"You rarely do," Clarus points out, more worry than bite to his tone; at the very least, Regis has known him long enough to now the bite is nothing to worry about and merely quirks a small smile when he nods in agreement.

There's a lull of comfortable silence, one that Clarus spends with his eyes trained intently on the way his hands clasp, trying desperately not to think of the visit to the hospital. Regis eventually breaks the silence first, his own eyes trained on the pond and avoiding eye contact.

"That you came here... I presume you brought Iris home... and that meeting with Gladiolus went... not quite so well."

Clarus can tell he's trying to choose his words carefully—they've both been beyond unfair to their sons, but there is no denying _how_ unfair. He shakes his head slowly, hands clasping tighter as he lets out another breath, watching the puff disappear into the winter night.

"If you had seen them, Regis...." He shakes his head, trying to push the memory away—the thick bandages, the machines, how pale they both still looked as their bodies fought to recover, Gladio's inability stay standing. "I had every intention of apologising to him—explaining everything to both of them. It will never be enough for Gladiolus, I know that much. He's far too stubborn," he smiles a little at that, vaguely notices Regis smile as well. They both know who he inherited _that_ particular trait from. But, a moment later his smile falls, "Too stubborn... he's always been stubborn... and to see him like that...."

He feels Regis' hand on his shoulder and is thankful he's already tense. The contact is welcome for reassurance just as much as he hates how familiar it feels.

"Ignis, too. He certainly didn't improve Gladiolus' stubborn streak. The both of them are far too stubborn for their own good. I know they'll get through this, but at the time I couldn't convince myself of that."

More silence. The comfort of the hand on his shoulder is more welcome than he thought it could be. A moment longer and he laughs, quiet, "Did Noctis tell you?" A questioning hum before he elaborates, unable to keep the pride from his voice, "They're getting married. Those two brilliant boys are both going to be my sons. I doubt Gladiolus will ever let me say as much, but... knowing they—"

He forces himself to stop. As abrupt as it is, he's not ready to open that wound yet. Not on his own terms.

"Knowing they've managed what we couldn't?" Regis finishes for him, the smile obvious without Clarus looking up. "There will be more chances to reconcile, Clarus. You managed to tell Iris, didn't you?" He nods a little. "I imagine she'll try to tell both of them. Perhaps just Ignis, if Gladiolus isn't willing to listen yet. But he'll come around. Perhaps not soon. But he will, once he manages to simmer a bit."

"You're far more confident than I." Clarus grumbles, miserably. He gives Regis a vague scowl when the other man laughs, "This is hardly entertaining, Regis."

"Oh, there's absolutely nothing entertaining about the situation." Regis agrees, but doesn't try to stop the amused chuckles, "You're overlooking something very important about Gladiolus, though."

He waits for a moment; waits to see if Clarus figures it out first. When all he can manage is a confused look, Regis shakes his head with a smile.

"Gladiolus learned all of his stubborn traits from you, Clarus. And I've known you well and long enough to know that, like you, he _will_ calm down after a few days. Give him some time once they're home. Let him recuperate away from the confines of the hospital, around familiarity. Let him and Ignis, both, readjust and find their comforts in their friends—the family they've made for themselves in our absence." Regis looks full of regret as Clarus feels and he can only imagine how much worse it must be, knowing he'd taken his own father's route against Noctis. There's a dry laugh after a stretch of silence, "I don't know how you do it, Clarus."

"Beg pardon?"

"I can barely handle Noctis—I... when I realised what I was doing to him, I—" He takes a breath to collect himself and shakes his head, "I owe him years upon years in apologies. Prompto, too, as it were—"

"Niflheim was _not_ your fault." Clarus interrupts him, much harsher than he intends. But, he doesn't apologise—never has, never will. Not when he's trying to remind Regis that he's _improved_ the company, "Your father should have stepped in _decades_ ago. Well before you did and we both know that."

Regis still looks uncertain, but gives a vague nod to show he at least heard and appreciates the words.

"... You know, perhaps it isn't so bad your father wasn't the one to handle Niflheim, either." Clarus muses after a moment longer, lips quirking into a small smile.

"Prompto's life could have been much different. Better."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Clarus gives him a sidelong glance, "Would Noctis'? Or would you still be watching him fall down the path you did?"

Regis gives a humourless chuckle, "At least I've you to remind me what a mistake it was to listen to my father. Perhaps one day I'll rationalise why I never listened to you."

Clarus merely shrugs to keep from thinking on it too long and looks back over his shoulder towards the inside of the apartment, "Perhaps if we'd both considered that mistake a bit more thoroughly... our children wouldn't be dealing with this. But... even as they are, we can be here for them now. It won't make up for the past two decades. But it's a start, isn't it?"

"Agreed. ...Shall we head in ourselves?" Regis finally pushes up from the railing, pointedly tugging on Clarus' scarf to remind him of the cold biting at his neck, "I'm quite certain, I'm much warmer than you."

"Amicitias are not so weak-willed to the cold," Clarus gives a small scoff, though his smile lets way to the teasing and he makes a gesture to allow Regis to go back inside first, "Shall I presume you've already found a nearby hotel for us to use?"

"I have. The children need sleep as well." Regis makes no move to return the scarf as he heads back towards the living room. Clarus decides not to point it out and follows close at his heel, "We've imposed on them long enough for one day."

When they enter the living room, they share a small smile and shake their heads. Aranea's stretched out on the couch, Iris lying on top of her, both still bundled up in their coats. Noctis and Prompto are mostly asleep on the recliner, thoroughly tangled on one another as well. Prompto blinks at them, bleary and obviously trying to register what he's seeing. It's not enough to wake him up completely and he just gives a wide yawn, "Morning, Mr. Amicitia. Mr. Caelum."

"Not quite, Prompto." Regis doesn't try to correct the sleepy greeting and merely moves to try shaking Noctis awake, "You two shouldn't be sleeping out here. ... Noctis, come on, now."

The result is a grumble and Noctis just clings tighter to Prompto, trying to bury his face between the blonde's shoulders. Regis gives a sigh and shakes his head.

Clarus, in an attempt _not_ to laugh at his friend, gently shakes Iris' shoulder, keeping a watchful eye on Aranea as he does. He hasn't known the woman very long, but he's quite certain her reflexes upon being startled awake are up to par with Gladio's. Luckily, Aranea keeps asleep and only grumbles when Iris raises her head, "Mnngh... oh... hi, daddy. S'it morning already?"

"Technically, yes." Clarus smiles, "Not early enough to be awake, though. Come on, you should head back to your room. You'll sleep better in your own bed, so you can visit your brothers later."

That seems to wake her up a little more. At least enough that she gives a sleepy, agreeing nod, and starts trying to work herself free of Aranea's grip, while simultaneously trying to wake the woman as gently as possible. Clarus turns his attention to Regis' plight and coughs a little to keep from laughing.

Prompto's managed to get free and is practically falling back asleep on his feet, swaying back and forth a bit as he rubs at his eyes and trying to stifle a yawn behind one of his hands. Regis gives Noctis' shoulder another few shakes; but, when they result in nothing more than an annoyed grumble, he finally gives up.

"This boy is getting far too old for me to carry."

"I'll gather him, Regis." Clarus chuckles, "If you'll lead the other one down the hall. I don't believe he'll make it on his own."

Noctis is almost surprisingly easy to lift; but, Clarus decides not to mention it in favour of following Regis back down the hall. Prompto nearly trips over himself a few times, but Regis keeps him upright with a firm hand on his shoulder, ready to steady him as need be and catch him when that's not enough. As soon as they're in Noctis' room, Prompto collapses, face first, into the bed and immediately wraps himself up in as much of the blanket as he can gather, completely oblivious to everything else, even when two small kittens crawl out from under the bed and start crawling on him with curious mewls.

"Ah. That's where the kittens were." Regis chuckles and stands aside so Clarus can get by, "He's not too heavy?"

"Given how well Ignis feeds them, I'm genuinely surprised he isn't." Clarus mumbles, easily setting Noctis down on the bed. The kittens immediately lose interest in Prompto in favour of crawling on Noctis and trying to crawl up Clarus' arm. Surprisingly enough (or perhaps not so much), even that isn't enough to wake Noctis up. He just grumbles and turns to seek Prompto out, easily wrapping up around him and drawing the kittens back to him with the movement.

It doesn't take too long for the two to figure out their humans aren't playing with them and they merely stretch out across both boys, pressed close together.

Regis stifles another chuckle with effort and gestures that they should leave. As they close the door, the door to Iris' room is closing as well and they both finally let out a few quiet laughs.

"Well. I suppose some things aren't meant to change." Clarus muses as they head down towards the car, "At the very least, I don't think Noctis will _ever_ grow out of his sleeping habits."

"I had hoped Gladiolus and Ignis would be able to break him of those habits," Regis admits, with a rare, sheepish smile, "Too optimistic?"

"Just a bit." Clarus agrees with a soft smile.

For now, things will be all right. They'll get better. If nothing else, Regis made up with Noctis; and, Clarus can at least talk to Iris and keep up to date with his sons that way.

For now, things will be all right the way they are.


	6. Stand My Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hospital may as well be their second home. Not their favourite place, but... apparently some good things do come from layers of misfortune. (Alternate Title: The Clarus Situation ~~it took a lot of self-control for me NOT to call the chapter that ok~~ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't read Cactus in the Valley first, as always! This chapter takes place at the end of [chapter 27](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9084307/chapters/21672164)!!
> 
> ((There's actually a chapter before this, but I was too invested in this chapter to focus on the other one lol whoops;;;;. That one will go up later and I'll rearrange the chapters accordingly \o/))
> 
>  **edit. 07.08.2017** small typos fixed \o/

The tension in Noctis’ room is suffocating and thick.

Whatever pressure Clarus had felt visiting his sons, this is far heavier and how he imagines things would have felt if he’d shown up the first night. If he’d had to wait for Gladio to wake up, waited longer for Ignis to wake up… and, speaking of….

His attention strays, just a bit, to survey the room as discreetly as possible. He finds Iris first, close to the door, wringing her hands in the hem of her jacket and shifting restlessly. She sends Aranea worried looks, can’t seem to decide if she wants to be closer to her girlfriend or her brothers. 

Gladio’s entire body is tense. Expression set in a thin frown that barely masks the rage bubbling beneath the surface, just below the concern. Hands clasp tight enough his knuckles begin to go white. The only thing that really belies his concern is the way he leans close to Ignis, just enough that their shoulders are touching. For his part, Ignis is leaning into the contact; as close as he can be without physically sharing a seat. Exhaustion settles heavily on his features—Clarus vaguely reminds himself they’d already been at the hospital: Gladio for a check-up, Ignis for his physical rehabilitation visit—but he still makes an effort to be aware of his surroundings. Tries to take in the scene before him through his sunglasses without drawing too much attention to himself.

That alerts Clarus to the change first, makes him realise his mind is wandering. The way Ignis sits up a little straighter—hope evident in the way his expression changes—just before Iris darts out of the room, just before he feels relief flooding over Regis next to him. (A short-lived relief, but painstakingly noticeable from his prior tension.) Clarus finally turns his attention back to the bed, lets himself feel that little bit better when he sees Noctis awake… but….

Gods, he looks terrible. Too pale—more so than he normally is, so much so the injuries look brighter and all the more threatening. So much so that the terrified expression is that much more damning; makes it settle, heavy and forceful, that everything is—as horrible as it already seems—a hundred times worse than they’d ever thought possible. It makes him realise—not for the first time, but much more clearly—that he  _should_  have been here.

Unbidden, his attention goes past his shoulder once more, less subtle than his prior surveillance, and he’s forced to acknowledge the condition his sons are in once more. Realises that, as much as he wants to be near them, Gladio would never concede to the worried attention. The way they make eye contact, brief as it is, reminds him of that when Gladio’s eyes narrow in the smallest show of hostility. Hostility he wholly deserves and acknowledges. He consoles himself, if just for a second, with the fact that Regis clearly needs the moral support, as well… but that consolation is gone in a flash. Not even a second before he feels the overwhelming need to be elsewhere, lest he do something he regrets.

He feels the stares follow him out—might hear an annoyed noise when he passes Gladio—but heeds them no mind. He easily recognises the weight of Regis giving him worried looks following him out the door and can only assume the other stare is Prompto, perhaps Noctis. He’ll apologise later… if Regis will let him.

In the hallway, the humourless laugh feels more hollow than ever and the door shutting behind him sounds far too loud. When has Regis  _ever_  let him apologise for anything? Or acknowledged that he  _deserved_  an apology—all of the apologies that could be offered. Not just from Clarus; the entire world owed him so many apologies.

He remembers the grief after Regis’ wife passed away; remembers staying with him—moving in for those few months so he could keep an eye on the children, just as much as Regis; remembers the way that, so suddenly, Regis wasn't just 'dad's friend' or 'Mr. Caelum' when Gladio started calling him 'Uncle Regis'; remembers Iris parroting her brother and Noctis adopting a similar approach to Clarus and demanding his attention just as much as his father's—and wondering just how beneficial his presence was. And here the world was: trying to tear his happiness away— _again_ —when he’d finally found it. When he finally found common ground, finally tried to make amends with his only child, to be the father he’d never had himself and  _hasn't_   _been_ the past twenty years. Someone was trying to take it from him again.

He wonders–not for the first time, but certainly the first in a long while–how things had been for Regis after they broke up. If he would dare compare their situation to any of the other misfortunes and hardships that seemed to follow Regis around. He would certainly classify it as heartache... but enough to be compared to his wife's passing or his son's current state? That he's not quite so certain of—

His thoughts are interrupted by a surprised voice–one he  _does not_  wish to deal with at the moment.

“Mr. Amicitia, what a  _surprise_.”

“Dean Izunia. Always a pleasure.”

The words leave a burning, bitter taste in the back of his throat and it’s only years of practice–of sitting through meetings with Regis–that lets him keep a civilised tone, a neutral expression, and stops him from striking the man. Years of practice and a very simple mantra that he forces himself to repeat in his mind.  _Regis needs you, do not instigate anything. Your children need you, do not encourage any confrontation. Regis and your children need you._

Ardyn tips his head, sweeping his hat off in the same motion, in what Clarus _assumes_ is supposed to be a greeting. A mockery of one, at any rate. He lets out a slow breath, giving the man a moment to announce his intent. The dean, however, offers no such information and instead studies Clarus with the faintest hint of a smile and a remarkably passive gaze for someone that's been accused of so much.

The mere thought—the reminder of what his sons look like—what _Regis'_ son looks like makes Clarus curl his fingers into a tight fist, nails biting into his palms in a desperate attempt to curb his anger.

_They need you **here**. Not in jail. **Here**._

He lets out a slow breath. Civilised. He can remain civilised.

"You have a reason for being here, I presume."

Civilised does not include pleasantries. It's worth the moment of surprise that overtakes Ardyn's face—clearly having been expecting a more formal, a more _polite,_ tone. He'll chide Regis later; this man deserves no such courtesy... though... he's quite certain _if_ Regis were to become involved, his tone would be none too formal, either.

"As I've informed Mr. Caelum over the year, I am _very_ invested when my students are in danger. Especially so such prestigious students." His gaze is half-lidded, expression one that should convey sympathy. _Should_. If Clarus didn't know for a fact that he was responsible for _at least_ Noctis and he didn't doubt for a moment that he was responsible for the other attacks, he may believe the mocking sympathy. He hardly hears Ardyn continue; thankfully, his voice is grating enough to break through his mind wandering and he forces himself to pay attention once more.

"Mr. Caelum's son, of course, is of our utmost priority. Your son and Mr. Scientia, as well. Star students—our best athlete, our best scholar... quite a pair, aren't they?"  The sympathy is replaced by concern as Ardyn glances past Clarus' shoulder—specifically, Clarus later realises, right at Noctis' room—and he heaves a sigh full of regret, "I do so hope we see them return to their pedestals. Your son was quite fortunate not to have been the one with a crushed leg, is my understand—"

"Do _not_ presume things, Mr. Izunia." Clarus feels his jaw locking into place, eyes narrowing as he fights to control his tone and the rage boiling in his veins. This... _farce_ is almost too much. Almost enough to make him consider that _perhaps_ prison is a reward of sorts. It's only the reminder he has a purpose—Regis, Iris, Noctis, _Gladiolus and Ignis_ —that keeps him from physically lashing out. "Gladiolus has been beside himself for a month and a half now. Stressing what he could have done differently. _Both of them_ have. Neither is more fortunate than the other. That they are both still breathing and finally moving around—finally _home_ —is the only good news they—that _any of us_ require."

Speculation, for the most part... but, if Regis was correct about Gladio's habits (and Clarus was quite confident in _Regis,_ at least), he knows exactly what his son's been doing since he woke up. Blaming himself just as much as he blames the people responsible. Ignis... he still needs to speak to Ignis. He knows Regis did, briefly, over the weekend to assess his psychological state; but, he would like to make a more personal effort and Ignis is far more likely to let him speak than Gladio.

"Oh, of course." Ardyn waves the words away, tone more amiable, more placating, clearly either trying to win Clarus over or provoke him further, "I meant nothing ill-mannered; I merely wished to express concerns for their futures. Mr. Scientia had quite a bright track ahead of him—"

"He still _does_." Clarus crosses his arms over his chest, patience thinning quicker and quicker as the seconds tick on, "As does Gladio. Their injuries are but a setback; I'm confident enough that they will recover, both physically and mentally."

He isn't. He really isn't confident at all. He's terrified for both of them—for Ignis, especially, whenever Iris mentions that he still hesitates to set foot in the kitchen without someone there to assist him. _Him_. The boy Clarus can still remember driving Weskham _mad_ by pestering him in the kitchen—because Noctis wanted a specific pastry, or Iris wanted her cake a certain way, or the tarts that Gladio liked—until Weskham finally threw his hands into the air and retreated in hopes of convincing Regis to gather him. (Not that those attempts ever amounted to much past Weskham quickly returning to ensure a—at the time—ten-year-old Ignis didn't injure himself while baking comfort food for his only friends.)

If nothing else, the momentary flash of annoyance that crosses Ardyn's features makes him feel just a little bit better about the situation. Just a little and just for a moment before he's on edge again.

"You are correct, of course. Mr. Caelum's company certainly opens all sorts of doors for the people it favours, doesn't it?"

"Everyone in his employ has _earned_ their spot, Mr. Izunia. Regis does not coddle his employees any more than he does investors."

Even that he can't really consider coddling—the way Regis can begin speaking in a meeting and wrap people around his little finger with the bare minimum effort. Charisma, ambition, social charm, and just the right amount of aggression to back his claims. Traits that inevitably drew people to Regis—that would eventually draw people to Noctis when he came into his own—and that initially drew Clarus in, as well. The charm and charisma of the social elite—of the lineage he was expected to uphold—with the softer side only select people were permitted to see. To date, Clarus only knows one other living person to have seen Regis' weaker moments. He wonders if Weskham had tended to Regis during their break-up and, if they hadn't reconciled, would he have been the one monitoring after his wife passed away? Not just weaker moments, though; the softer smiles, the more playful side that would tease Cid, the moments of stubbornness that used to annoy Weskham when he wouldn't eat whatever was prepared, for the most mundane of reasons.

Those thoughts—the small and bygone memories of much simpler years and times—allow him to keep his composure. Allow him to roll his shoulders back to relieve the tension and stand guard, patiently; even if it means feigned interest and bearing words of mocked concern for the situation, the very least he can do is ensure Ardyn is nowhere near Noctis' room and, by proxy, anyone else visiting.

"You're quite close." Ardyn's voice draws his attention once more; years of practice once more stop him from showing any real reaction past a raised brow (though, internally, he feels a familiar suspicion creeping along his nerves and spine). The dean gives a dismissive gesture, like he _wasn't_ just insinuating how deep his connections and knowledge really ran, "With Mr. Caelum, I mean. To address one another on a first name basis, as business partners."

"Associates, if you don't mind."

There's an underlying tone the way he says it. The way he stresses 'business' that makes the uncomfortable twinge of 'partners' more damning than it normally is.

"Oh? I'd assumed you'd been friends for _years_ , given how your children are with one another."

"That has very little do with our professional relationship," Clarus raises a brow to convey he isn't amused by the line of questioning nor is he certain where it's leading, "If you _must_ know, however: Regis and I met in college. As we did with a number of other business associates. We've kept in touch well and remained quite close friends since. That our children are such close friends is hardly a surprise."

"Close friends is certainly _a_ word for your son and Mr. Scientia."

This time, Clarus feels a nerve in his face twitch, a familiar throb of anger beginning to build once more despite his will to stay calm. For the briefest moment, he wonders how much Ardyn really knows... though it's quite apparent he knows _enough_ if he knows that Ignis grew up in close enough proximity to be considered one of their children.

"You have concerns about their relationship?"

"Only that perhaps your son overlooked a _very_ important detail about the real world. One I'm certain you've tried to convince him of—"

Before Clarus has the chance to demand answers—demand to know _how_ he knows—he hears a door behind him. He hasn't seen the police come in yet; and, now that he considers it—as the footsteps trail down the hall instead of disappearing in the room—he realises he hasn't seen Iris. The only reason he knows it isn't the nurse leaving, is the moment of surprise that overtakes Ardyn's expression for the briefest moment, before leveling back out into a smile. A smile that sends an unnatural and uncomfortable sensation up Clarus' spine before he finally glances over his shoulder to check for himself.

Worry and fear simultaneously quell the building rage when he sees Ignis. Watches him leaning on the wall outside of the room before guiding himself down the hall by leaning against the wall. He doesn't have his crutch, nor the cane Regis offered him. Anger—worried anger—and pride... mostly worry, when he's reminded that Ignis _is_ as stubborn as Gladio and just as reckless in some situations.

"Well, that's just delightful, isn't it? I never did get a chance to speak with Mr. Scientia about that unfortunate accident he was in, shall we—"

Clarus immediately turns back on Ardyn, following his sideward step to keep him from passing. There's still room between them—about an arm's length; just enough that when Clarus raises his hand, it isn't the least bit threatening. A simple gesture telling the man not to move, not to even _attempt_ bypassing him a second time... and also a warning. Not a threat to anyone observing the situation; but, he _knows_ Ardyn recognises and very much acknowledges the warning, in the way he doesn't immediately attempt to step around Clarus a second time.

"I believe I speak for Regis, as well, when I say this, Mr. Izunia: While we _appreciate_ your concern, your presence is _not_ welcome here. He will not permit you to visit Noctis, I can promise you that." His eyes narrow, expression hardening from the careful neutrality. He takes a brief moment to enjoy the way Ardyn shuffles back half a step; clearly uncertain whether or not Clarus _does_ intend to strike him. He's heard about Noctis lashing out and he's quite certain the dean is well aware that Clarus' punch would be much more painful. Detrimental to Clarus in the long run, yes; but, it's enough that Ardyn is uncertain whether or not Clarus _cares_ about the consequences of the action he _could_ take. For the time, Clarus merely offers a thin smile, one he knows comes across with forced civility, strained formalities, but necessary. He keeps his tone business neutral, just in case anyone over hearing them thinks there is conflict brewing, "That being said, I will offer you a courtesy, Mr. Izunia."

Ardyn tips his head in a gesture of curiosity, a gesture asking Clarus to continue. His smile grows, just the smallest fraction.

"Stay away from my daughter and my sons. Regis will be the _absolute least_ of your worries, if _I_ hear word that you've so much as _approached_ my children. Even if it pertains to their future on campus, I advise you to send a teacher or speak to me directly."

"A fine courtesy, indeed, Mr. Amicitia; though, that hardly changes the fact I need to speak with Mr. Scientia—"

"You seem to have misunderstood, _Dean_." Clarus' eyes narrow once more, "My daughter and my _sons_." He stresses the plural this time, makes sure Ardyn holds eye contact, "You will not be setting foot near Iris or Gladiolus _or_ Ignis. This warning does, of course, by proxy, extend to their roommates. To Ms. Highwind and Mr. Argentum, just as well as it does to Noctis. Now, if you do not mind, I've a son to see to. Good evening, Dean Izunia. It is well past time you took your leave."

He turns, sharply, on his heel without waiting to see if Ardyn heeds the warning; but, he's rewarded by the sound of retreating footsteps—brusque and agitated, enough to bring him the smallest satisfaction—and knows he delivered his point well enough.

♣

Ignis hadn't been able to stand the situation in Noctis' room.

He's nigh overwhelmed with shame for his behaviour; but, he also knows that... well. Aranea and Prompto may not understand. But, he knows that Gladio understands; that Mr. Caelum does; and, most certainly, that Noctis does. Even at his best, Ignis wasn't one to physically handle such emotional situations. He much rather let Gladio or Iris buffer those occasions while he waited for the tension to lessen a bit; would rather wait for logic to be an option of comfort (not that he wasn't willing to offer a shoulder and ear). And, whenever that method failed, he was at least assured he could offer comfort food. Noctis' personal favourite for any situation, especially so stressful ones, was a flaky, cinnamon custard pastry; and, at that very moment, Ignis would give absolutely anything to be able to bake for him. For him, for Gladio, for Iris—for _all of them_. For a sense of _normality_ and something that resembled _control_ amidst the utter chaos that their lives had become.

He inhales, deeply, and exhales, slowly; repeats the exercise a few times before he turns and, mindful to keep a hand on the wall, begins walking away from the room. He just needs a few moments to clear his head, then he'll go back and maybe be able to handle things just a little bit better. At the very least, he's confident he'll feel a little less embarrassed by needing Gladio to explain the scene to him. He pushes the thoughts away in favour of thinking over the weekend.

He's still digesting the information Mr. Caelum supplied over the weekend—their roommates had all made plans to be away from the house for Valentine's Day, though he's still uncertain whether it was intentional or accidental. Beneficial, at the very least, as it gave him and Gladio time to finally talk away from the hospital, to finally get on the same page again, to try adjusting to what life would be like over the next few weeks and months. As long as it took Ignis to stop relying on a crutch. (Truly, he wasn't even supposed to be out of his wheelchair very often; but, if he was nothing else, he was just as stubborn as his fiancé.)

His own plight aside, information. That Mr. Caelum and Mr. Amicitia were working diligently to get to the bottom of their year of misfortune. That Mr. Caelum had actually _made up_ with Noctis. Somehow. Gladio looked skeptical—more so that his father was _helping_ , especially so in light of their last conversation. But, he had at least agreed to ask Noctis later (which they had and confirmed everything to be true, with both Noctis and Iris) and, quite begrudgingly, agreed _not_ to incite any hostility with his father for the time being. Thus far, the two had been adamantly avoiding one another; Ignis is actually quite certain that today is the first time they've seen each other since Mr. Amicitia visited _them_ a week or so ago. It's only the situation as a whole that seems to have kept Gladio from being excessively hostile, though Ignis is quite certain he heard annoyed growls and doesn't doubt for a single moment that there were a number of glares.

Wish as he might, he has the vaguest feeling _that_ may have very well been the last straw for Gladio. It's been a long time coming and he knows that for a fact, but... given his relationsip with his own parents, there are very few things that pain him more than watching his friends—his fiancé, especially—voluntarily neglecting their fathers. He's relieved Noctis has made progress, at the very least. Mr. Caelum's voice has been softer, as of late, as well; a bit more like Ignis remembers from being younger. Before he began grooming Noctis to be the perfect heir. Iris, oddly enough, has been making more attempts than usual to try talking Gladio into meeting with their father. To try talking to him again, now that they've had a bit of time away from the hospital. (He suspects those attempts will cease for the moment, if just so they can focus their attentions to Noctis' recovery.) ... But, so far, Gladio has been solid in his conviction to _not_ speak to his father under any circumstances, even if he _is_ tolerating his presence for the sake of closure. For some sense of hope that things will finally _end_.

He doesn't realise how long he's been gone—how far he's wandered—until his right leg begins to protest. Until his steps are becoming more unsteady, until he feels a tell-tale throbbing and pulsating in his knee that makes him stop. Makes him lean heavy against the wall as he tries to control his breathing and take pressure off his leg. He regrets leaving his cane in the room; but, truly, he hadn't meant to wander so far. He'd only meant to collect his thoughts and return, not... he isn't even sure how far down the hall he got.

A soft curse leaves his lips, dissolves into an annoyed grumble. Trust it to be the _one time_ there wasn't a nurse hovering at his side this would happen. He berates himself for leaving without Gladio. Without waiting for Iris to come back. Without his cane or crutch. Without considering that he's been in physical rehabilitation for hours prior to this and his body was well past its capacity for physical stress, never mind still recovering from the emotional trauma of the past month and a half _he_ had been in the hospital.

Perhaps... perhaps if he's careful, if he takes it slowly, he can turn. Can put the weight on his left side to make it back down the hall. At least back to where he can get a staff member's attention.

Of course, all of this would imply he has any small sliver of luck. Luck that he's proven, quite thoroughly lately, he does not possess.

The second he tries to straighten himself—the very second he tries to take the smallest bit of his weight from the wall to center himself, the pain in his leg shoots through _every_ nerve in his body. But, before he can even process the panic, can even _begin_ to consider the consequences of stumbling—of _falling_ —an arm catches him. A gentle, but sturdy brace against his chest and a hand on his back in a show of comfort, of consideration. Grateful as he may be, he still feels panic. Uncertainty. As his luck has been, he's not the least bit surprised (and twice as annoyed) that the little vision he does have is blurring as he tries to regard whoever helped him.

Familiarity washes over him, but it does nothing to soothe his nerves. He knows for a fact it isn't Gladio. He _knows_ Gladio's presence and _this_ isn't it. Not quite. Similar but... _oh_. The realisation hits him just before a voice breaks his thoughts.

"Ignis, what in Eos do you think you're doing, walking around?"

"I—uhm—"

He isn't really given a chance to answer. He winces when he tries to right himself, to pull away. The motion ends in him gripping Mr. Amicitia's arm in a desperate attempt to ignore the pain.

"I apoligse, I—"

"None of that." His voice is sharp. Enough to make Ignis immediately snap his mouth shut and he imagines how guilty, how miserable he must look; because, a moment later, the man lets out a slow breath and is a bit calmer, "Will you be all right with an arm over my shoulder?"

"I... yes, sir, I believe so?"

A moment later, Ignis lets out a soft hiss of pain when he feels his weight adjusted to a new position—one arm across Mr. Amicitia's shoulders, while the man's right arm is around his torso.

"I apologise, this will only take a moment. Put your weight on the left."

His tone is much... softer than Ignis is used to. All the same, he complies and lets out a relieved sigh when pressure is relieved from the right half of his body, especially so his leg. Barely a second later, he's lowered to a bench and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh as he slumps back against the wall, panting softly and gripping his right leg tightly in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

"I... I apologise, Mr. Amicitia, I didn't—"

"Ignis." The man cuts him off again, much gentler this time, "There's no need for that. Regis and I have both told you that such formalities are unnecessary. ... Well. I'm certain Regis has...." A bitter note of laughter fills the hallway, "I suppose I've never spoken _to_ you, these past years, have I? All the same, there's no need for that. Clarus will suffice."

Before Ignis can find the will to argue, he goes tense when the man settles on the bench next to him. He frowns, willing himself to breathe, to calm down, to assess the situation.

"I... very well... Clarus." He test the name, uncertainly. It feels... odd, but not entirely unpleasant. Not the way he would expect after years of being on the receiving end of the man's criticism. Of course, the minute he considers that, he's tense once more as he recalls the _last_ time they'd been together had been Gladio yelling at his father. He's not sure what to say. Silence is usually welcome but this feels... far too tense, far too volatile. He jumps when Clarus breaks the silence first.

"I owe you an apology, Ignis."

"... I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Clarus chuckles, short and bitter, and Ignis strains to see him through his sunglasses. "I suppose I owe you more than one, however... most notably, though, I certainly owe you an apology for how things went the last time I visited. I... did not intend to upset Gladiolus." The man sighs, but offers nothing more in explanation.

Ignis turns over the information he's gathered since that visit. From Iris. From Noctis. From Mr. Caelum. He mulls on it for a long moment before he finally tries to fill in a few remaining blank spots.

"I gathered as much. Iris has been... persistent, trying to convince Gladio to seek you out. To attempt a new conversation. I believe she hoped that Gladio would be inclined to follow Noct's example."

He's genuinely surprised the words earn him another laugh. Detached and a touch regretful, but a laugh none the less.

"I'm certain she has been. I apologise, if she's been pestering you... I suppose that means you've heard... bits of what happened on Noctis' end, the night I visited."

"I heard that he and Mr. Caelum made steps towards reconciliation and that they have since then begun to see eye-to-eye on matters." Ignis offers, confused by where the conversation could be going, "It was... alarming, given how things have been between them over the years. Reassuring and encouraging; but, alarming, all the same."

He wonders if he's imagining the smile. But, instead of commenting, he merely tilts his head in a curious gesture, waiting for Clarus to offer insight on the matter. When there isn't an immediate response, Ignis steels himself and tries to prod a little harder; mostly to sate his curiosity.

"I imagine that, despite the situation, Noct feels at least a little bit more reassured, having his _whole_ family here for him." Ignis turns his attention to the floor, letting out a slow breath when he feels Clarus go tense next to him, "I do not wish to denounce you; but, you must realise how this appears. I will be frank: your presence—Mr. Caelum's, as well—is very... threatening—please, let me finish." He doesn't try to look at Clarus this time; instead, he waits a beat to ensure he's heeded and continues, "Logically, the two of you being here makes sense. Despite whatever differences they may have had before, Noct is an only child and has been groomed for success. We've all known that out entire lives and, even if he is rebelling, that does not change that fact. Under prior circumstances, I'm quite certain Mr. Caelum could have used this situation to pull Noct back onto the prepared path... or, perhaps today would have made him realise just how horrible the years have been to his son. Regardless, they made up before now, and there is nothing but worry and relief in that room and it is... comforting, in its own way. But... for Gladio and I—for... for _us_... to—to see," he hates that he stumbles over the word. He jumps a little when Clarus puts a hand on his shoulder, giving a soft, comforting squeeze and Ignis responds with a weak smile, "I apologise. I was saying... oh, yes. For us... after having been alone for most of our stay, to see not only Mr. Caelum, but you as well... I'm sure you understand why the two of us feel... perhaps threatened was not the correct word. But, Gladio is far and long past meeting you half-way, at this point. I'm certain he's only even tolerating your presence as a favour to Iris and Noct, in light of the fact you and Mr. Caelum are helping us."

He more senses than sees the nod, but it's enough for the moment. Ignis pauses, considers where he had meant to take that point.

"... When I woke up—you, of course, remember what happened to my uncle and with my parents." He hears a confirming hum and, despite the situation, finds himself smiling, "I was terrified when I woke up—well. I was dreadfully confused, first... but, when I realised I was alone—when I realised Gladio wasn't with me, wasn't already waiting... when no one but the attending nurse was present... I was absolutely terrified. I assumed the worst, despite all reasoning that the passenger side had taken the brunt of the damage." His hands clasp tighter until he feels his joints protest and distracts him from the throbbing in his leg. He lets out a slow breath, "I am not the least bit pleased by the situation. To have the one place we all considered safe by desecrated in such a manner, I am... upset does not begin to cover it. Less so, when I consider the information we have on Noct's injuries, the certainty that _he_ was bold enough to attack Noct head on." He takes a moment, takes another deep breath and releases it slowly, "... That was not my point. My point was that I am at least grateful that Noct was not alone when he woke up, even if it means witnessing tension between you and Gladio. That I am _very_ grateful the dean did not appear, as he did for our past two visits to the hospital—Mr. Ami—er... Clarus?" He startles when he feels the man go rigid next to him, wonders what he could have _possibly_ said that would trigger such a reaction after everything else.

"... What I'm about to tell you stays between us. I do not want this reaching Regis or Noctis. Or Gladiolus. No one else." The man's voice is quiet. Softer than Ignis can ever recall hearing it. He frowns and gives a slow nod. It's odd to consider that Clarus is confiding in him—something he doesn't want even Mr. Caelum to hear.

"Of course."

A beat of silence before Clarus lets out a strained breath.

"The dean left, just before I came to you. He intended to be here—likely to rile up Regis or terrorize Noctis, perhaps both. To antagonise all of you, as he's been shown to do."

As angry as Ignis _wants_ to be ( _is_ ; he's absolutely _livid_ , just thinking about Ardyn _attempting_ to go near Noctis in his present state), he also feels ripples of doubt and fear twisting his insides.

"... I had hoped—but then...? He simply... left...?"

"Not quite so simply, but... yes. After some time, he left; but, I do not believe he was expecting to see me." Clarus lets out a slow breath, "I can only be hopeful he did not run into Iris on his way up or on his way out."

"Iris is quite capable of handling herself and is far more level-headed than Gladio." Ignis puts in; but, even then, his tone is doubtful. He knows the words to be factual, but... even so, he cannot account for her emotional stability. For the emotional stability of any of them at the moment. He would still like to believe she would know not to repeat Noctis' mistake by striking the man, no matter how tempting. After a moment long, Ignis frowns, "You said it took time to convince him to leave. How long?"

"Not long enough to be too concerned. Between the time I left the room and the time you left." He feels Clarus shift next to him, "He's a rather talkative man, isn't he?"

At that, Ignis has to smile. A small smile, barely a twitch of his lips; but, he nods all the same, "Extremely so. ... Might I ask what his clever reasoning was this time? To be present, I mean? Is he still weaving a tragic portrayal of the grieving dean, concerned for his students?"

Clarus chuckles, "Eloquent as ever, Ignis. Correct, as well. He tried to tell me he was worried about Noctis, at first. And then about you and Gladiolus. I'm sure he was just looking to incite conflict, hoping I would anger as easily as my son. I do—did, quite honestly. But, I do know restraint. I know getting caught up in his tempo would be detrimental to the work Regis has managed and will manage."

The moment of amusement evaporates into conviction—support, when Clarus reaches over to put a hand over Ignis' (still clasped in his lap, wringing in an anxious manner) and gives a gentle squeeze.

"Crossing Regis will be the last mistake he ever makes. I promise you that. He will answer for what he's done. To all of you."

Ignis lets himself smile, lets himself believe the words, and gives a slow nod, "Thank you. ... I suppose that means Mr. Armaugh is involved, as well. Delightful." Despite still smiling, the sigh that follows is sad. He feels it. Feels the regret down to his core and works one of his hands free to grip Clarus' for a moment, hoping to reassure himself. That the man's been so forward, so open... that is almost reassurance enough, "Perhaps... after this is all done and over... please, try to speak with Gladio again? There's a... I would very much—" He bites down on his lip, hesitating.

Early on, Gladio had made it _very_ clear that he didn't want Clarus involved with their wedding. Didn't want him to know unless it was at the last possible moment so that if—and what they thought was a certainly—Clarus tried to talk them out of it, tried to interfere in any way, he wouldn't be able to. After their one-sided confrontation when Clarus visited in the hospital, he had reiterated that he did _not_ want his father anywhere near their wedding. At all. Even so... Ignis wants to hope they can at least speak to one another. Maybe not reconcile the way Noctis and Mr. Caelum have, but... to at least _speak_ to one another. He takes a breath; but, before he can try again, Clarus speaks up.

"Iris already told me." The man supplies. Ignis isn't sure they're referring to the same thing, for a moment; not until he continues, "Regis and I will be attending your wedding. ... Let me clarify that Regis was extended an invitation and I was invited as his guest. At least, that was Iris' logic, for any complaints Gladiolus is apt to make. I will... _try_ to speak to Gladiolus before then, but I... am not certain how quickly we will be able to finish this. I will speak to him, though."

Hope feels more like a reward—like relief—than ever before. Ignis smiles as the last few pieces fall into place and he wonders if he's truly put the puzzle together correctly. For a moment, he wishes he had visual cues to check; but, he's quite certain that he's added all the information up correctly.

"Spectacular. I will speak to Gladio, as well. Try to convince him to let this talk happen. I believe you two have quite a bit to discuss—"

"You as well." Clarus points out, voice calm if not a little surprised. But more than that, amused. Proud. Ignis turns his head a little to regard the man in a curious manner.

"I can't imagine my presence would be necessary—"

"Ignis. Please. You're to be my son soon and I... would very much like to speak to both of you. About many things. And apologise to both of you. Humour an old man, for one more conversation?"

Ignis gives a small nod, feels his smile become a fraction wider, the slightest bit more natural, "Hopefully, more than one?"

"Hopefully." He hears Clarus shift and stand and tilts his head up to the man. Clarus gives a quiet laugh, "Come along. We've been gone long enough, I'm certain. Gladiolus is likely worried sick right now. I'll look for my daughter once I've seen you back; now, come along."

Ignis accepts the offered assistance, gripping the extended arm to pull himself upright. He doesn't argue like he normally would and concedes to walking close to Clarus in case his leg gives out again. It feels... well... not _better_ ; but, it doesn't feel like the joint is getting ready to snap under pressure, either.

Amusingly enough, as soon as they get close to the room, they find Iris trying to balance a tray of seven coffees, three bowls of individual creamer packets, and a handful of sugar packets, while trying to figure out how to open the door. Clarus shakes his head and carefully takes the tray from her, tilting his head with a simple order for Ignis and Iris to go back in first. Iris immediately takes up to Ignis' side, fussing about the fact he doesn't have his cane or crutch; but, as soon as she gets the door open, she ceases in favour of announcing their return and that she got coffee for everyone. She helps Ignis sit back down before she starts passing the coffees out.

Ignis just smiles and lets out a slow, calm sigh, when he takes his offered cup and leans on Gladio.

"You ok?"

Gladio's voice is soft, trying to keep attention off of them incase Ignis _hasn't_ calmed down. But, he has, he is, and... overall... he knows everything is going to be ok. He gives a small nod, leaning his head against Gladio's shoulder.

"All things considered? I believe I am."

**Author's Note:**

> o/ Thank for reading, friends! Lemme know if you spot typos!!!


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